Out of the Past II: Memories
by Layla2
Summary: *COMPLETED* A shocking discovery brings feuding cousins back into contact...and into a dangerous game where old tensions come to the forefront, putting lives at risk. (Sequel to
1. Prologue

AN #1: This is a sequel to my previous story, "Out of the Past:   
Ghosts". I highly recommend reading it first.  
  
AN #2: Much of the events and some of the characters are based on real people   
and occurrences. No offense is intended, and I work from the theory that   
imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. ;o)  
  
On another note, large sections of this story will likely deal with the field of   
forensic anthropology. I try to treat the field and the often unfortunate souls   
who are frequently its subjects with utmost respect, but some may find the   
nature of the science somewhat disturbing. If so, you may wish to skip this   
tale.  
  
  
  
  
NOTE: MILD GRUESOME WARNING  
*************************************  
  
November 20, 2001  
Yekaterinburg (formerly known as Sverdlosk), Russia  
City Morgue  
2146 local  
  
(AN: dialogue in ( ) is in Russian.)  
  
  
("So, have you solved our mystery yet, Mercedes?")  
  
The cheerfully-asked question and sound of the flimsy morgue doors slamming shut   
didn't even cause the blonde woman leaning over the surgical-style aluminum   
table to look up. Instead, she remained completely focused on her current task-  
- carefully and almost reverently laying out and measuring with meticulous care   
the bones in front of her.  
  
("Give me a break, Georgi. I've only been here a week, and I only got access   
yesterday,") she replied, turning to scribble down another series of   
measurements. ("Hell, I'm still not sure why you needed me here in the first   
place. This isn't like in '92.")  
  
The dark-haired man moved to sit in a nearby chair, its worn plastic seat   
creaking in protest as he sat. ("Is it not enough that I wanted to see the most   
beautiful forensic expert in the West?") he said, grinning.  
  
A dirty look was his answer. ("Georgi, you're full of it, and you know it. How   
did you ever get clearance for me to work on this?")  
  
He shrugged. ("It is not like last time. This man is no missing Tsar. And   
Russia is different. The government is too busy trying to raise money to be   
concerned with a foreign scientist working on an unidentified body found in the   
middle of nowhere, even if that scientist is an American.")  
  
("And the money I sent as a 'visa fee'?")  
  
("It did not hurt either.")  
  
Mercedes just shook her head, then turned back to her work. A few minutes   
later, an electronic beep signaled that the DNA results had been processed.   
Georgi looked at it, amazed. ("You have a result already?")  
  
She nodded. ("Grab them for me, will you?")  
  
The Russian retrieved the paper printouts, and studied them with a confused   
look. ("There are two sets of results?")  
  
("Yeah. I like to run a known test subject to check the machine, especially   
after a long trip like this one, so a put a little bit of me through first,")   
she said with a grin, then noted that the confusion on her colleague's face had   
increased, and been joined by shock. ("What is it, Georgi?")  
  
Wordlessly, he handed her the papers. Mercedes stripped off the gloves with a   
snap before taking the papers and studying them. "That's impossible," she   
breathed.  
  
Quickly, she retrieved her reference DNA chart from her case, comparing it to   
the one the machine had just spit out. And then, with shaking hands, she looked   
at the chart of the unknown skeleton on the table. A chilling silence reigned.   
It couldn't be. It was impossible.  
  
Finally, she set the papers down, and in a strangled voice, asked, ("Georgi.   
Were there any effects found with him?")  
  
He nodded, and went and retrieved a small paper bag from another table.   
Mercedes took it over to a third, empty table, and carefully shook out the   
contents. A few bits of cloth, a shred of leather, and a few metal items clanged   
to the surface. One in particular caught Mercedes's eye.  
  
With shaking hands and no thought to the gloves she should have been wearing,   
she picked up the worn gold band. Taking it in both hands, she held it close   
enough to inspect the inside.  
  
And promptly collapsed in a dead faint at the simple words engraved inside:  
  
  
"Harmon & Patricia - Love Eternal."  
  
  
TBC... 


	2. Chapter 1

Special Disclaimer: I'm a lawyer, not a scientist.  
**************************************************************  
  
One week later  
JAG HQ  
1053 local  
  
  
Mercedes carefully slid the elegant black Benz sedan into a parking space,   
shut off the engine, then paused. She was still in shock over her discovery in   
Yekaterinburg, but that wasn't stopping her from taking action.  
  
Had it really been only a week since she had found herself waking up on   
the floor of a Russian morgue, trying to adsorb what she'd discovered? That   
somehow, her uncle, an American Navy pilot shot down over Vietnam in 1969, had   
died and been buried in the middle of the Russian wilderness? Her mind couldn't   
even begin to imagine the events that had brought him to the then-Soviet Union.   
And if she guessed correctly, she didn't have time to.  
  
The fact was, the Russians knew about the ring inscription, which meant   
they knew that the remains belonged to an English speaker- possibly even an   
American. Mercedes knew damn well that if that information reached the wrong   
parties, her uncle's remains would simply vanish. She wasn't about to let that   
happen; one way or another, Lt. Harmon Rabb Sr., USN, was coming home. If not   
for his sake, then for her cousin's and aunt's.  
  
Which was why she was back at JAG--- not that her cousin would see her.   
He'd steadfastly refused any attempts she'd made to try to contact him, and to   
explain and apologize for the previous debacle.  
  
As she began collecting her things, CD reflected on that mess, and   
reluctantly acknowledged that hindsight was, in addition to the cliché of being   
20/20, a real pain in the ass. Yeah, that first day, she'd been caught   
completely off guard and had lied to the Admiral out of reflex, if you could   
call it that. But why she didn't fix it afterwards.....? She sighed. That was   
the problem with doing stupid things. You usually only realized they were   
stupid after it was too late to fix them without looking like a total moron.  
  
With another sigh, Mercedes tucked the briefcase under her arm and climbed   
out of the car. Things weren't going to get any better by sitting out here   
dithering. And with the matter at hand, time was not something she had a lot   
of.  
  
Up in the bullpen, she scanned the offices. Some higher power must have   
been smiling on her; her cousin's office was closed and empty. Finally, she   
spotted her destination. Straightening her long skirt and severe jacket, she   
took a deep breath and headed for Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's office.  
  
  
*****************  
  
  
"Mic, how many times do I have to tell you? It's just not a good time   
right now," Mac said wearily.  
  
"When will be a good time, Sarah?" Mic shot back, his anger evident and   
growing.  
  
She was about to reply when there was a knock at the office door.   
"Enter," she called, holding up a hand to silence Mic.  
  
"Colonel MacKenzie?" Mercedes asked tentatively as she entered.  
  
To say Mac was surprised was an understatement. She'd expected that at   
some point she'd see Mercedes Rabb again, but not this soon, and certainly not   
here at JAG. She looked over Harm's cousin, noting the sharply tailored black   
suit with its unusual ankle-length skirt, the plain but clearly expensive gold   
dress watch in place of the large chronograph she'd worn previously. Her hair   
was pulled back into a smooth, flawless but severe chignon, which only   
emphasized Mercedes's unusually pale and somewhat gaunt face. This was clearly   
not a social call. "Investigator Rabb," she responded, not missing the surprise   
on Mic's face.  
  
"Forgive me," Mercedes began, "I didn't realize you were busy with another   
appointment."  
  
Mac cut her off politely. "I'm not. This is my fiancé, Mic Brumby.   
Mic, this is Mercedes Rabb, a forensic specialist with the Virginia State   
Investigative Bureau."  
  
Mercedes politely extended a hand. "Mr. Brumby, it's a pleasure," she said   
as blandly as possible. Something about the man wasn't sitting right with her,   
even though she'd just met him.  
  
"Miss Rabb," Mic returned, turning on the charm. Rather than return the   
proffered handshake, Mic slowly took Mercedes's hand and kissed it.  
  
For her part, Mercedes barely controlled the impulse to snatch back her   
hand and wipe it off vigorously on her skirt. She hadn't missed Mic's blatant   
ogling of her figure, nor the fact that his eyes were firmly locked on her chest   
while he kissed her hand. The action made her skin crawl. Whatever Mac saw in   
this guy, it must have been something completely different than what CD saw. Oh   
well, some women thought this sort of thing was charming. Mercedes herself just   
thought it was annoying and mildly sleazy.  
  
She was so busy assessing the man she nearly missed his next comment.   
"Rabb.... you wouldn't be related to Harm Rabb here, would you?  
  
"He's my cousin," Mercedes answered distractedly. "Look,   
Colonel, if you don't have time to talk, I can come back later." She glanced at   
Mic. "I'm afraid that what I need to discuss with you must be done in private."  
  
Mac could've kissed Mercedes Rabb; she'd been trying to get Mic to leave   
for the better part of an hour. "No, no," Mac insisted, "Please, have a seat.   
Mic was just leaving," she added pointedly. She didn't miss the irritated   
scowl on his face as she said this.  
  
Mercedes watched as Mic moved over to press a kiss to Mac's cheek, saying,   
"We'll finish this later, luv," then took his leave.  
  
Mac sat down, sighing, then looked at the other woman. "Sorry about   
that."  
  
"Nothing to apologize, for, Colonel. I'm just glad you're willing to see   
me," Mercedes answered.  
  
"Unlike your cousin," Mac replied wryly. "So what can I do for you,   
Mercedes?"  
  
Here goes nothing, CD thought. "I'm hoping you could put me in contact   
with someone at the State Department. Someone you know and trust."  
  
Mac was quiet for a bit. Of all the possible reasons for CD's appearance   
she'd come up with, that hadn't been one of them. "May I ask why?"  
  
"I.... I may have stumbled on to some information," CD replied uneasily.   
How much should she tell her?  
  
"What sort of information?" Mac asked, warning bells going off in her   
head.  
  
Damn. She should have known Mac wasn't going to just give her what she   
needed and then turn a blind eye. Well, hell, Mercedes thought, might as well   
go for broke. "Mac," she said quietly, "how much do you know about Harm's   
father?"  
  
Mac blinked. Again, of all the things she'd been imagining, that hadn't   
been one of them. "A lot more than you might think," she responded equally   
quietly. Time to put the cards on the table. "I think you'd better just tell   
me what's going on, Mercedes."  
  
CD took a deep breath. "All right, but I need to give you a bit of   
background, so bear with me."  
  
"I don't know if you know, but I got my degrees from the University of   
Florida-- my undergrad in 1993, and my master's in '96. My master's and my main   
undergrad field was forensic anthropology, and I spent a great deal of time in   
the C. A. Pound Human Remains Identification Lab. Our main professor was one of   
the top experts in the world. So in late 1992, he and several others were   
called to Russia, Yekaterinburg in particular, to work on a very.... exclusive   
case."  
  
"Wait a minute," Mac interrupted. "Yekaterinburg? Wasn't that where   
they found the remains of Tsar Nicholas II and his family?"  
  
Mercedes nodded. "Exactly, and that's why we were there."  
  
"We?"  
  
"We. I was nearly done with my undergrad degree, having gone year-  
round, and Dr. Beckham had already assured me I was going to be accepted to grad   
school there. So he made one hell of an exception and allowed me to come along   
as an assistant."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Yeah. Anyway, while I was there, I made quite a few friends among the   
local morgue staff. After we left, I still kept in touch, and continued to do   
so. About a month ago, not too long after everything happened here," she said,   
wincing slightly, "one of them contacted me. Seems he had a mysterious set of   
remains found in the middle of nowhere by some mineral prospector. Asked if I'd   
like to work on it, if I was available. Having just gotten a four-month   
suspension from my job here, time was not an issue," she added dryly.  
  
"Ouch. Four months?" Mac asked.  
  
"Ummm-hmm."  
  
"I see. So you went to Russia..." Mac prompted, a sickening, sinking   
feeling in her stomach telling her where the story was leading, but at the same   
time refusing to believe it.  
  
"I went to Russia, got access, and started to work. Now, on a case like   
this," Mercedes explained, "I always start off the same way. I take detailed   
notes and measurements, lay out the remains in proper order, and run a DNA   
sample. Since the DNA analysis processor had been shipped from the US, I ran a   
sample of my own DNA through to check the calibration when I ran the unknown   
sample."  
  
CD paused, taking a deep breath. "Mac," she said in a voice so quiet it   
was nearly a whisper, "the two samples were similar...too similar to be   
anything but relatives."  
  
"Oh my God." Mac couldn't believe what she was hearing. It just wasn't   
possible...was it? This would destroy Harm.....  
  
"I know. Even with that, though, I wasn't willing to believe I was looking   
at my uncle. I mean, what on earth was he doing in Russia? Not possible,   
right?" Mercedes added with a weak, mirthless laugh. "Then I asked Georgi-- the   
friend who brought me there-- if there had been any effects found with the   
remains."  
  
Mac's face was now as white as Mercedes's. "Oh no. You found something   
that confirmed it, didn't you?"  
  
CD's answer was to open the case and remove a large photograph. The   
quality was poor; it looked like it had been a much smaller picture that had   
been enlarged and enhanced with a computer. "I couldn't take a good close-up of   
just the ring; that would have been far too suspicious. But this is good   
enough, and you can read the inscription."  
  
Mac's eyes grew large as she took the photograph of the simple gold band,   
reading the inscription. "Harmon & Patricia - Love Eternal," she whispered.   
"Dear God."  
  
"I'm sorry to drop this on you, Mac," CD added quietly. "But I was out of   
ideas, and I've got to do something, and quickly. The minute the right people   
over there realize what we've found, he's gone. And I can't let that happen. I   
won't let it happen."  
  
Swallowing, Mercedes leaned forward to look the stunned Marine straight in   
the eye. "Help me bring him home, Mac. Please."  
  
  
  
TBC....  
  
  
***********************************************************************  
AN: The C.A. Pound Human Remains Identification Laboratory is located in the   
Florida Museum of Natural History on the University of Florida campus in   
Gainesville, Florida, and is considered to be one of the best forensic labs in   
the country, if not the world. Mercedes's "Dr. Beckham" is actually the lab's   
former director, Dr. Wm. H. Maples, who was one of the few American scientists   
involved in the identification of the Romanov remains found in Yekaterinburg   
(aka Svedlosk), Russia in 1991. He also worked on many other high profile   
cases, including the Gainesville student murders. Sadly, this brilliant man   
died in 1997, but if interested, you can read about many of his cases in his   
book, "Dead Men Do Tell Tales". I highly recommend it.  
  
Layla, UF class of 1993 ;o) 


	3. Chapter 2

Same Day (November 29)  
Puccini's restaurant  
Alexandria  
1828 local  
  
  
  
Mercedes sipped at her drink nervously, waiting. Any minute now,   
Mac's contact in the State Department should be arriving, hopefully   
with some ideas how to resolve this mess.  
  
She looked around the elegant restaurant, scanning the other   
diners. This whole situation was making her downright paranoid; she'd   
repeatedly checked her mirrors to make sure she wasn't being followed,   
and now she was trying to find Russian spies in an Italian restaurant   
in the middle of Washington, D.C. You're losing it, there, Rabb, she   
admonished herself.  
  
One had to admit, though, that the current situation wasn't   
helping. After telling her story to Mac, the Marine had made a few   
cryptic phone calls, then told Mercedes to be here at 1820...er, 6:20   
PM to meet with her 'friend'. And that was all she knew, except to   
ask for Lt. Cowen when she got here.  
  
Mercedes sighed. When had her life become something out of   
Mission: Impossible?  
  
  
******  
  
  
"Ah, Mr. Webb, how good to see you again," the Maitre d' greeted   
effusively. "You have a reservation?"  
  
"Actually, I'm here for a friend of mine who couldn't make it at   
the last minute. Lt. Cowen."  
  
"Ah, of course." The Maitre d' knew Clay; this wasn't the first   
time he'd used the restaurant 'for business'. And the man was well   
paid not to ask questions. "Your lady friend is already waiting. This   
way."  
  
Lady, hmmm? Clay was doing this purely as a favor to Mac. Her   
mysterious request about a friend who needed some help from the State   
Department had him mildly intrigued. Besides, he owed both Mac and   
Harm at least a few favors, so he really couldn't refuse.  
  
However, as he followed the Maitre d' around a corner to a   
concealed booth, he was very surprised to see an elegantly attired   
Mercedes Rabb sitting there, apparently lost in thought. The Maitre d'   
gestured silently toward the table, confirming Clay's guess.  
  
Well. Things were now officially interesting. Clay approached the   
table hesitantly. "Miss Rabb?"  
  
Mercedes jumped, startled. "Mr. Webb?" she half-gasped. This was   
Mac's friend from State? Lieber Gott..... "Um... hello," she   
managed to get out. "I wasn't expecting you," she added. Great, Rabb.   
Real smooth.  
  
"I could say the same," Clay returned dryly as he took a seat. "So   
Mac tells me you have some sort of problem that warrants State's   
attention?"  
  
"Well, yes, but....uh....well, you see....I mean, that is to   
say.... Oh, Schiesse," CD finally managed to get out, dropping her face   
into her hands and shaking her head. "Look," she said, glancing up   
again, "this was stupid. I never should have bothered either one of   
you. I'll just try to handle things on my own," she added, moving to   
leave.  
  
"Hey, wait a minute! Mercedes!" Clay had to nearly jump the table   
to catch Mercedes arm. "Stop. Sit down. I promised Mac I'd listen to   
what her friend had to say, and I meant it." He gave her a wry grin.   
"What've you got to lose?"  
  
Mercedes paled. "More than you think," she whispered, frozen.  
  
Her reaction alone convinced Clay he needed to hear what she had   
to say. This woman had faced down a serial killer; he'd seen her do it   
with his own eyes. Whatever was going on, it was big, and it was   
important. "Then tell me," he said quietly. "I might be able to help   
more than you think."  
  
"I want to," she said, relaxing slightly. "But I don't know if I   
can trust you. And this is too important to risk."  
  
He didn't have an answer to that. Somehow, he knew that any   
promise or declaration would ring false with her. Instead, he simply   
let go of her arm, took a step back, and waited.  
  
She studied him with wary eyes, then finally sank back down into   
her seat. Clay did likewise. And then she proceeded repeat what she'd   
told   
Mac.  
  
  
****  
  
  
Clay listened attentively to her story, but once he'd realized what   
Mercedes had found, his mind was already racing ahead. Granted, he   
wanted to bring home Harm Sr., but there were other things at stake,   
chief among them a deal near fruition that would get one Sgt. Sergei   
Zhukov released from a Chechen prison camp. Still, since Sergei was   
being held by Russia's enemies, this could still work in his favor.  
  
But frankly, there was no way the Russian government would release   
the remains of a US MIA. It would be an international relations   
nightmare. So if they were going to do this, it would have to be   
covert. Which meant that Mercedes Rabb, who was publicly involved,   
could have nothing to do with it. Damn....sometimes he hated this   
job.  
  
With a start, he realized CD had finished her story and was waiting   
for a response. With a sigh, Clay began telling her what he had to.   
"I'm sorry, Mercedes, but you have to realize that there's no way   
those remains can or will be returned to the US."  
  
"What?!? Look, Mr. Webb--"  
  
"Clay."  
  
She took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm down, and   
started again. "Clay, listen to me. The Russians don't know whose   
remains those are. I'm the only one who does, and I'm not about to   
tell them," she stated, trying for an eminently practical tone. "Isn't   
there some way you could help me? I don't know, maybe create a false   
identity to match? Even if I don't conclusively give the remains an   
identity, the Russians won't release them to me, even on scientific   
grounds. *There has got to be a way*, dammit. This is *my* uncle--  
Harm's *father*-- we're talking about."  
  
God, he wanted to help her. The pain in her voice cut straight   
through him. And he would recover the remains, come hell or high   
water, but she couldn't know that. Opting for a blasé, slightly bored   
tone of voice, he addressed her as if talking to a particularly slow   
child. "Miss Rabb, the US government can take no official involvement   
in an internal Russian affair, which this is. Furthermore, your idea   
of a false identity would never work. There's nothing you can do."  
  
"I see." Mercedes's voice was icy. "Well, I'm sorry to take up   
your time, Herr Webb," she stated, a slight accent coloring her voice.   
"Gute Nacht," she almost snapped, collecting her things and sharply   
taking her leave.  
  
Clay could only watch her go, sighing. If she was anything like   
her cousin, which he was betting she was, she'd be on the first flight   
to Moscow tomorrow morning. Damn. He'd better stop by the office and   
put a flag on her passport. If she couldn't leave the country, she   
couldn't stir up trouble in Russia.  
  
Alone at the table, he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Why was it   
when someone named Rabb was involved, he always ended up in pain?  
  
  
******************  
Dulles Airport  
2356 local  
  
Mercedes took one long last look around the largely deserted   
terminal. She'd gotten lucky; there was a Lufthansa flight leaving at   
1AM, bound for Moscow via Petrograd. In a little over 24 hours, she'd   
be back in Yekaterinburg. She'd have to make up the rest as she went   
along.  
  
  
TBC.... 


	4. Chapter 3

Next Day (November 30)  
JAG HQ  
Admiral Chegwidden's Office  
1120 local  
  
  
Mac still wasn't positive about telling the Admiral about   
Mercedes's revelation, but in the end, she decided she really had no   
choice. He would find out sooner or later anyway, and besides, Harm   
was due back this afternoon.  
  
She walked up to Tiner's desk, waving him down when he started to   
stand. "The Admiral said to go on in, ma'am," he informed her.  
  
"Thanks, Tiner." All the same, she knocked softly on the door and   
waited for the response of "Enter" before opening it.  
  
Admiral Chegwidden looked to be engaged in one of his least   
favorite activities--paperwork. He looked up from several small stacks   
of paper as she entered. "Good morning, Colonel. What can I do for   
you?"  
  
"Sir," she began, pausing to take a deep breath, "I need to talk to   
you. As both a C.O. and a friend."  
  
She had his full attention now, as the papers were laid aside.   
"Have a seat, Mac. What about?"  
  
Mac bit her lower lip, uncertain how to begin. "Sir, it concerns   
Commander Rabb."  
  
"I see." He leaned back in his chair. "Would this have anything   
to do with Mercedes Rabb's visit yesterday?"  
  
Mac wasn't surprised he knew about Harm's cousin's visit. "Yes sir,   
but..."  
  
"Go ahead, Mac."  
  
"Sir, she came to me because... she's come across information   
concerning Harm's-- er, Commander Rabb's father."  
  
AJ sat up sharply. "I think you better just tell me the whole   
story, Mac."  
  
And she did, explaining how Mercedes had come to be in Russia,   
working on the unidentified remains, and how, by pure coincidence, had   
discovered their identity. Through it all, AJ listened attentively,   
fingers interlaced in front of his chin. When she finished, he sat   
back slowly. "Jesus Christ," was his sole comment, uttered in a low   
voice.  
  
Silence fell for a few minutes before Mac spoke again. "Sir...what   
are we going to do? As his friends, I mean?"  
  
"Damned if I know, Mac. You believed her when she told you this?"  
  
"Yes sir," she answered emphatically. "She showed me the evidence-  
- the DNA charts, and the picture of the ring. Mercedes herself...   
Sir, I don't know her that well. But I've learned to read body   
language. She was shocked, nervous, and more than a little scared."  
  
"I see. You put her in contact with Webb?"  
  
Mac nodded. "There really wasn't much of anything else I could   
do."  
  
AJ sighed. "Damn. I thought we were finished with this."  
  
Mac waited a bit before speaking again. "Sir...we have to tell   
him."  
  
"I know, Mac. I know." AJ pulled off his reading glasses, rubbing   
the bridge of his nose. "But not here."  
  
  
****  
  
Admiral's Home  
McLean, VA  
2014 local  
  
  
Mac sat on the Admiral's--AJ's, she corrected herself--couch. All   
the players were here, except Harm. He was, as usual, running late.   
She smiled weakly. Nice to know there were a few guarantees in this   
world.  
  
She scanned the room, unconsciously inspecting the other two men   
present. The Admiral was gazing out the window, watching for the   
junior officer's arrival and seeming calm and unperturbed. Mac knew   
better. The calmness only served to cover focus.  
  
Clayton Webb was in another corner, alternately pacing and glancing   
around the room impatiently. The agent looked tired, his three-piece   
suit atypically rumpled.  
  
At the window, AJ announced quietly, "He's here." A few seconds   
later, the sound of a car pulling up outside was followed by a door   
shutting and a hesitant knock. Everyone turned as the Admiral let Harm   
in, telling him quietly to take a seat.  
  
Mac took a deep breath. It was time.  
  
  
TBC.................. 


	5. Chapter 4

Harm was tired, but he'd have to be dead not to realize something   
was up. An invitation to the Admiral's house that was in reality a   
thinly-disguised order was his first clue. The presence of Clayton   
Webb was his second.  
  
He groaned inwardly. His last assignment hadn't been a difficult   
one, but it did involve a good 20 hours travel time. And now Webb?   
This couldn't be good, he thought, taking a seat in an overstuffed   
chair.  
  
Only then did he notice Mac sitting in a corner of the couch. She   
was watching him carefully, like she was uncertain of him. What the   
hell was going on?  
  
AJ and Webb joined them, taking seats themselves. It had been   
decided that the news should come from the Admiral. "Commander," he   
began, the slightest note of weariness in his voice, "I know you're   
wondering what's going on here."  
  
Harm glanced around. "The question had occurred to me, Sir."  
  
AJ nodded, and continued. "There's no easy way to tell you this,   
so I'll just say it straight out. The Colonel, Mr. Webb and I have   
recently come into possession of information regarding your father."  
  
Mac felt a surge of pain as she watched Harm's face go ashen. But   
he had to know. Her heart tightened in her chest as Harm choked out,   
"I don't think I understand, Sir," in a near-whisper.  
  
"We have reason to believe your father's remains have been   
discovered," AJ said quietly. Damn, this was harder than he'd thought.  
  
Harm just sat there, frozen in shock. If she didn't know better,   
Mac would suspect he wasn't far from passing out. She wavered, then   
moved closer and took his hand. "Harm," she said quietly, "Please   
listen. Mercedes-- your cousin-- came to see me. Back in 1992, she   
was a part of the team that examined the Romanovs' remains in   
Yekaterinburg."  
  
"What does that have to do with Dad?"  
  
"She made contacts over there, and one of them recently asked her   
to come work on some unidentified remains that had been found. She's   
suspended from her job here, so she went. When she got there, she ran   
a DNA sample on the bones. But before that, she ran a sample of her   
own DNA to check the calibration on the machine. The two sets of   
results were too similar to be anything but relatives."  
  
Harm just stared at her. "She's lying. She has to be."  
  
The knot in Mac's chest got tighter. God, this was killing him.   
"Harm," she began again, "she showed me the results. And there was   
more." She stopped, taking a deep breath, fighting the tears pricking   
at her eyelids. "Mercedes asked the local tech if there was anything   
found with the remains. Personal effects." She couldn't stop the   
single tear that began trailing down one cheek. "There was a gold   
wedding band. She showed me the picture, Harm. It was old and worn,   
but you could still read the inscription inside. It said "love   
eternal", along with your Dad's and Mom's names."  
  
Harm was frozen in disbelief, staring at her. "No," he whispered,   
"It can't. It just can't be."  
  
Webb, who had been silent, finally spoke up. "I saw the evidence,   
too, Harm. There was nothing to indicate it was anything but real."  
  
Harm leaned forward, head in his hands. "Oh God," was all he said,   
in a voice so soft it could barely be heard.  
  
The others present said nothing, giving him time to adsorb all he'd   
been told. It was obvious when he'd managed to get past the initial   
shock; he looked up, straight at the CIA agent. "Clay--,"  
  
"I'm already working on it," Webb answered. "but it's not going to   
be easy. I'm still trying to get Sergei out of Chechnya, and pushing   
too hard on either issue could backfire."  
  
A thought occurred to AJ. "Webb. What about Mercedes?"  
  
All eyes were on Clay. "I talked with her last night and told her   
to leave it alone; it was the only thing I could do. Otherwise she was   
going to go off half-cocked and try something on her own, like someone   
else I know," he added dryly. "I put a flag on her passport his   
morning. She can't leave the country."  
  
Harm and the Admiral relaxed slightly, one less thing to worry   
about in their minds. But Mac latched on to something Webb had said.   
"Wait. You put the flag on this morning?"  
  
"Yeah. Nothing specific, just that she was wanted for   
questioning," Webb replied.  
  
"And nothing's shown up yet?" Mac asked, disbelief in her voice.   
"Nobody's come across her, and she hasn't come back to either one of   
us, completely furious?"  
  
The realization hit the three men at once. Webb immediately yanked   
out his cell phone and punched in a number. "Webb. I need you to run a   
check of all flights leaving the tri-state area for Europe or Asia from   
nine last night until eleven this morning. Now," he ordered. "Look for   
the name Mercedes Rabb."  
  
"Try Von Kleist as well," The Admiral suggested wryly.  
  
Webb held up his hand for silence as the tech on the other end   
confirmed his worst nightmare. The only question left in his mind was   
whether the SEAL, the Marine, or the Tomcat pilot was going to get the   
first swing.  
  
He hung up the phone, turning back to the other three. "Mercedes   
Rabb arrived in Moscow early this morning."  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	6. Chapter 5

Three days later (December 2)  
Trans Siberian Railway  
Somewhere between Perm and Yekaterinburg  
2027 local  
  
If you ever forgot just how big the world, and Russia in   
particular, was, all you needed to do was try to get across them,   
Mercedes reflected. Even in this day and age, the journey from D.C. to   
Yekaterinburg took three days. First, there was the flight. Even   
aboard the always-comfortable Lufthansa, it took 17 hours, with a brief   
stop in Berlin. Add in the time difference, and a 1 AM departure from   
D.C. one day ended up in a 1AM local arrival the next.  
  
But that only got one to Moscow. From there, Mercedes had quickly   
hurried to the central Moscow train station, catching the Trans-  
Siberian Railway first to Gor'kiy, then Vyatka, then a long stretch to   
Perm, and finally arriving in Yekaterinburg around 11PM local, again   
having lost time to two more time zones.  
  
At least she'd been lucky enough to find private compartments on   
the old-style trains. Determined to be inconspicuous as possible, she   
had changed to more European-style clothes at Moscow station, stuffing   
the rest in a canvas knapsack, her only luggage. She'd even hidden her   
English novel in a false Russian cover.  
  
She still didn't know what she was going to do when she got to   
Yekaterinburg. When she left, she'd given the excuse of a relative in   
a car accident needing her. It wouldn't withstand the slightest   
scrutiny, but she doubted Georgi had checked. Others? Well, that was   
another story. She could only wait and see.  
  
  
**************************  
Yekaterinburg City Morgue  
0038 local  
  
  
The building was unusually quiet, even for the middle of the   
night. She flashed her ID at the night desk clerk, who waved her by   
without looking up from his newspaper. She made her way down the hall   
to the stairs, glancing around the dimly lit corridor. Although it   
looked like every other time she'd been here late, something just felt   
wrong. A chilling sensation crept up her spine, what some called the   
feeling of someone stepping on their grave.  
  
Mercedes increased her pace, moving quickly but quietly up the   
stairs. A glance around showed another deserted hallway. Something was   
off, though, she knew it. She made her way slowly to the lab where   
she'd been working.  
  
Then she heard it. A soft but sharp *thiiikk* sound, followed by a   
thud. She increased her pace, pushing though the flimsy lab doors. And   
stopped cold.  
  
Georgi lay dead on the floor, a pool of blood below his head.   
And a figure in black, their features hidden by a ski mask, was putting   
the remains into a small metal box. At the sound of the doors, and   
Mercedes's gasp, he immediately drew a silenced pistol, aiming straight   
for her, his finger curling around the trigger.  
  
  
TBC... 


	7. Chapter 6

Mercedes reacted instinctively, diving under one of the tables as   
the intruder fired. A virulent curse, and the intruder ducked down to   
fire. A hard kick and a conveniently placed chair knocked his aim off   
this time.  
  
Mercedes scrambled out, looking around wildly. One the other side,   
the gunman stood and took aim again, but she grabbed for the lab stool   
behind her and hurled it at her attacker. The shot went wild as the   
figure tried to protect himself against the blow, throwing his arms up.  
  
Mercedes saw her shot. A booted foot went into her attacker's mid   
section, crumpling him forward. A sharp chop to the back of his neck   
left him out cold on the floor at her feet.  
  
She simply stood there for a minute, trying to catch her breath.   
She looked around the largely-destroyed lab, eyes wide, then down at   
the unconscious figure at her feet.  
  
"I've got to get out of here," she whispered to herself.  
  
Bending down, she retrieved her attacker's gun, flipping on the   
safety and tucking it in her jeans. Next, she examined the box that   
now held her uncle's remains. It appeared to have a tight seal, and   
would work for transportation. Carefully, she closed it and put it in   
her bag. Only one more thing.  
  
She found the bag of personal effects in their storage bag. She   
removed the ring, then sealed the bag and put it in her own knapsack.   
Searching in a few drawers, she found some soft cotton string. Looping   
one end securely around the ring, she knotted the ends together and   
slipped it over her head, tucking it down her shirt.  
  
Just then, she noticed the small flashing light above the   
doorway. Scheisse. Someone had tripped the security system, lousy as   
it was. Time to go.  
  
She slipped out into the hallway, desperately trying to recall the   
building's layout. "Dammit, where is it?" she hissed under her breath,   
all the time moving to the opposite end of the building.  
  
A glance through a locked office showed her what she'd been   
looking for. Outside, a rusty, rickety-looking fire escape made its   
way down to an unlit alley. Perfect.  
  
But how to get to it? She looked around, knowing her time was   
running out. "Oh well," she sighed, then, pulling her hand inside her   
coat sleeve, put her fist through the inner office window.  
  
A quick swipe around the edges cleared it enough for her to climb   
through. A few steps to the outside window, and a repeat performance   
got her access to the fire escape.  
  
The entire thing looked ready to collapse, but at this point, she   
was out of options. Carefully but quickly, she moved out on the escape,   
which groaned in protest at her weight. "Three floors," she muttered,   
carefully making her way down, "just three floors, that's all I ask."  
  
She almost made it. As she was transferring her weight from the   
last landing to the ladder, the entire structure shuddered, then began   
to crumble.  
  
With a desperate leap, she managed to clear the falling metal,   
instead landing less than softly in a pile of trash. Oh well, any   
landing you can walk away from, or in this case, run.  
  
Picking herself up, she sprinted for the far, dark corner of the   
alley and began weaving her way through the back streets of   
Yekaterinburg. She was a block away when she realized she had a tail.  
  
After a winding, twisting path through the alleys, she looked   
behind her once again. She was blessedly alone. Falling against a   
wall, she exhaled sharply, relaxing briefly before moving again, this   
time darting around another darkened alley corner.  
  
And was immediately grabbed from behind, one arm going around her   
waist and another over her mouth, silencing her scream.  
  
TBC..... 


	8. Chapter 7

Harm's Apartment  
North of Union Station  
Two days later- December 2  
2015 local  
  
  
Mac knocked on the door for the second time in a matter of   
minutes. She knew Harm was home, despite the lack of answer. And she   
was worried.  
  
Logically, she told herself he would be fine. Heck, he hadn't   
even been surprised when Webb announced that Mercedes Rabb had returned   
to Russia. He'd simply nodded, and asked the agent to take care of   
things, then left.  
  
Not a word had been heard from him since. Mac had called   
repeatedly on Saturday evening and all day today. All she'd done was   
learn his answering machine message by heart.  
  
And while her mind (which sounded suspiciously like Mic) told her   
he was a big Squid and could take care of himself, her heart told her   
he needed a friend or he'd simply retreat into himself and never come   
back.  
  
She debated calling to him through the door, but decided the point   
was moot. So, hesitantly but determinedly, she pulled out the spare   
key and unlocked the door.  
  
As she opened it, the first thing that struck her was the darkness.   
It was complete and total, and swallowed the apartment and everything   
in it. She vaguely remembered it was a new moon, so even that slight   
illumination was missing. She shut the door behind her before calling   
out softly, "Harm?"  
  
A ragged-sounding voice responded from somewhere near the couch.   
"Go away, Mac," it said tiredly.  
  
"No."  
  
A sigh, then silence. She knew turning on the lights would be a   
bad move, but she wasn't about to simply stand there like a fool. With   
a mental shrug, she gave in and began feeling her way towards the   
disembodied voice. She was a Marine, after all. She could hand a few   
furniture-based bruises.  
  
"Mac, what are you doing?" She noted that his voice seemed to be   
coming from a slightly lower 'altitude' than normal. Probably sitting   
on the floor.  
  
"Trying to find you," she replied. She should be somewhere near the   
couch...  
  
"Fine," he answered testily, "just watch out, I moved the--"  
  
*Whump!* Mac's foot found the coffee table leg, sending her   
stumbling forward...  
  
"...coffee table," Harm finished, just in time to catch a lap-full   
of falling Marine.  
  
"Ummm...sorry," she got out breathlessly. At least she'd found   
him.  
  
"Need to work on those landings," he told her, the faintest trace   
of humor creeping in.  
  
"Next you'll be telling me we should just leave the flying to you   
Squids," she replied, carefully picking herself up and settling on the   
floor next to him. "Don't suppose you've mind a bit of light? In case   
you hadn't noticed, it's kinda dark in here," she said, trying to keep   
things light.  
  
"Really," he said, as she both heard and felt him move a bit,   
before a candle flared to life on the offending table. "I think I got a   
hint of that when I became a crash pad for a Jarhead." The light,   
although dim, allowed her to see the weak grin that accompanied the   
remark.  
  
He settled back into his previous spot, arms resting on bent   
knees.  
  
"So."  
  
"So."  
  
Silence fell between them for a few moments. Harm simply gazed   
into the candle's flame, lost in thought, giving Mac an opportunity to   
observe him. More than anything, he looked worn out. Dark circles   
rimmed his eyes, and the slightly scruffy-looking stubble on his face   
indicated he hadn't bothered to shave for at least a day. One of the   
buttons on his light blue chambray shirt was buttoned wrong. The shirt   
itself was rumpled and the tails hung loose of his jeans. Nor did she   
miss his bare feet, unusual for him this time of year in the   
perpetually underheated apartment.  
  
Gently, she laid a hand on his arm. "Harm," she said quietly,   
"talk to me."  
  
"There's not much to talk about, is there? Besides, Webb is   
handling it, just like he's handling Sergei."  
  
She withdrew the hand, not sure what to do, how to draw him out,   
get a reaction. It took her a few minutes to come up with something she   
knew would get a reaction-- one way or another. "You know, I was pretty   
surprised when Mercedes showed up," she commented neutrally.  
  
"She has that effect on people," he answered dryly.  
  
"Not like that. She looked totally different--fancy hair, fancy   
suit, and pale as a sheet. I think she was scared, a bit."  
  
"Hmmmm."  
  
"Yeah. And I don't think she liked Mic at all, either." If this   
didn't work, she'd eat her dress blues.  
  
Harm's head snapped around. "She met Mic?" he asked in sheer   
disbelief.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"And he's still breathing?"  
  
"Yeah.... why do you ask?"  
  
"Well...she's been known to nearly throttle people that annoy her   
enough just on sheer principle."  
  
"Oh no," Mac gasped out, beginning to laugh. "You do realize Webb   
is chasing her down, right?"  
  
Harm just stared at her. "Oh my God. He's never gonna know what   
hit him," he said, before dissolving into laughter right along with   
Mac.  
  
  
*******************  
Later  
Same place  
2147 local  
  
  
After a good laugh (and several bad puns involving Webb getting run   
over by a certain make of German automobile), Mac persuaded Harm to   
order dinner.  
  
So they now sat across from each other, enjoying the Chinese   
delivery that had arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Mac was finishing   
off hers when Harm looked up at her, a serious look on her face.   
"Mac....I'm thinking about going over there."  
  
She froze, a bite halfway to her mouth. "To Russia? But Harm,...."   
she paused, taking a good look and seeing the truth in his eyes.   
"You've already decided," she stated flatly, dropping the food back in   
its container, her appetite gone.  
  
"Mac...."  
  
"Why, Harm? Just tell me why. What do you expect to accomplish   
there?" she demanded.  
  
"Dammit, Mac, I don't know. But I can't sit here and do nothing,   
and I'm not sure we-- I can trust Webb to handle things."  
  
"That may be, Harm, but there are people over there who want you   
dead. Not mention those who will want to cover this whole thing up."  
  
"I have to take that chance, Mac."  
  
"I see," she stated quietly. Then slowly, she gathered up her   
things and made her way to the door.  
  
Harm made one last effort. "Mac....please...try to understand,"   
he pleaded.  
  
She stopped at the door, and turned to face him. "I'm not sure I   
can, Harm, but I'm trying. Give me some time," she said softly, before   
slipping out the door.  
  
"Mac..." he began, but she was gone.  
  
With a resigned sigh, Harm went to the bedroom to pack. As he   
began putting things together, it occurred to him that once again, she   
hadn't wished him good luck.  
  
  
*******************  
Admiral Chegwidden's Home  
Next day- Monday, December 3  
0545 local  
  
  
AJ had just finished his morning jog when the phone rang. He didn't   
need to look at the caller id to know exactly who was on the line.  
  
"Chegwidden."  
  
"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but--"  
  
"Go with him, Mac. His plane leaves in an hour and a half. I'll   
take care of things here."  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
"Thank me by coming back in one piece, Colonel."  
  
  
TBC................ 


	9. Chapter 8

Same time (0545 local)  
Mac's Apartment  
Georgetown  
  
  
Mac had barely hung up when her apartment door opened, revealing a   
cheerful Mic Brumby. "Morning, Luv! Thought I'd bring you a bit of   
breakfast," he said, kicking the door shut and crossing to drop a kiss   
in Mac's cheek before setting down a bakery box.  
  
Oh no, Mac thought. This was the last thing she wanted to deal   
with right now. She had a plane to catch, dammit. At least she was   
already packed--then again, she had been since about an hour after she   
got home from Harm's. "Mic..." she got out weakly, "This is a   
surprise."  
  
Another kiss, followed by a hug. "Just for you, luv," he said,   
grinning. Then he noticed her clothes. "You're not dressed for work?"   
he asked, confused.  
  
"Mic, I... look, I have to go away for a bit," she hedged, pulling   
away.  
  
"A case?" he asked, still confused.  
  
"Not really. Look, I really need to get going. The flight leaves   
in a half an hour."  
  
"Wait a minute...Sarah, if it's not a case, why are you leaving?"   
A thought occurred to him. "Is something wrong with your uncle? Are   
you going out to see him?"  
  
"No, Uncle Matt is fine," she sighed. "Look, Mic, I really don't   
have time to talk about this," she said impatiently, beginning to   
gather her things.  
  
"Well at least tell me where you're going, Sarah."  
  
Oh, hell. "Russia."  
  
"Russia? What the bloody hell's in Russia?"  
  
"Harm's father." Here it comes.  
  
"You're going to Russia with *Rabb*?" Mic said disbelievingly.  
  
"Yes, Mic," she said wearily. "And I need to get going. Now."  
  
"NO."  
  
"*Excuse* *me*?"  
  
"No, Sarah." The Australian's voice was cold. "I will not have   
my fiancée running off to a foreign country with another man."  
  
"You won't," she stated flatly, not believing what she was   
hearing.  
  
"No, I won't, Sarah. If you leave, it's over." He drew himself   
up, crossing his arm over his chest. "It's me or Rabb, luv. Make your   
choice."  
  
It was that last statement that made something within her snap.   
"Fine, Mic," she said equitably, then moved to the kitchen table,   
picked up his keys, and removed hers from the keychain, stuffing it in   
her pocket. Turning to face the now-stunned Aussie, she said, "I   
wanted to marry you, Mic. I even think I loved you a little, once upon   
a time. But if you force me to choose between my best friend, who has   
stuck by me through more than you can imagine, and my fiancé, who seems   
to care less and less about what is best for *us* and more and   
more about what's good for *him*, YOU WILL LOSE. And you just have."   
She yanked the now-offending ring off her finger, and slapped it into   
Mic's palm. "Goodbye, Mic."  
  
"Now, wait a minute, Sarah, luv..." he cajoled.  
  
"I said Goodbye, Mic. And pissing me off further is not a wise   
idea right now. Get. Out." The last was said with every bit of Marine   
forcefulness she had, causing Mic to reflexively take a step back.  
  
She pointed to the door, glaring at her now ex-fiancé with a   
stare worthy of the most fearsome drill sergeant. Mic took the hint   
and made his way out. "This isn't over, Sarah," he insisted, pausing   
at the door.  
  
She crossed to the door, and looked him dead in the eyes, much   
the same way she took aim with a rifle. "Yes it is, Mic," she said,   
then slammed the door in his face.  
  
Leaning against the door, she paused to collect her thoughts.   
Seventy-eight minutes and forty-six seconds to make it to the airport.   
She grinned. Good thing she had a 'Vette.  
  
  
***********************************************************************  
Dulles Airport  
58 minutes and 23 seconds later  
  
  
Harm sat at the gate, idly waiting for the boarding call. It'd   
been an interesting 24 hours. He'd gotten grudging permission to leave   
from his CO, run off his best friend, and inadvertently dumped his   
girlfriend. Heck of a scorecard, there, Rabb.  
  
He'd called Chegwidden yesterday afternoon. The Admiral'd been   
less than pleased, but had told him to go, after getting Harm to admit   
he was going to go with or without permission.  
  
Renee had shown up shortly afterward. After he'd told her of his   
plans, she threw a fit worthy of an operatic diva, which he watched,   
unimpressed. "I'm telling you only out of concern, Renee," he'd told   
her.  
  
"Concern?!? CONCERN!?! Harm, if you were at all *concerned* about   
me, you wouldn't be going in the first place!" she'd shrieked. Stomping   
to the door, she announced, "If you get on that plane, Harmon Rabb,   
don't bother calling me when you get back!!" before slamming the door   
behind her.  
  
Oh well, scratch one girlfriend, he thought. She'd been fun, but   
to be honest, he'd been planning to split with her anyway. He just   
hadn't figured out how to go about it yet. So much for that.  
  
He did wish things had gone better with Mac, though. He'd hoped   
that if anyone could understand, she would. Although he'd never   
willingly asked her to come along--simply because he'd never ask her to   
put herself at risk for him-- he'd halfway hoped she'd show up on her   
own. He still did.  
  
The gate attendant announced his row for boarding call, and he   
sighed. Guess she wasn't coming after all.  
  
"Hey there, flyboy, they're calling our row, so get your six   
moving," a familiar voice said from behind him.  
  
He turned around, and sure enough, there she was, dressed in   
jeans, sweater, and leather jacket, a backpack slung over one shoulder.   
"Mac?"  
  
She grinned. "Someone's got to keep you on time and out of   
trouble."  
  
He returned the grin, full force. "Leave it to the Marines,   
hunh?" he teased.  
  
"Smart man."  
  
  
TBC...... 


	10. Chapter 9

Somewhere over the Atlantic  
Enroute to Moscow  
Several hours later  
  
  
Time accelerated as they flew east, so it wasn't long before the   
sky outside the airplane windows turned the warm orange of sunset   
before fading to the midnight blue of dusk. As it did, the sleepless   
night before began to catch up with Mac. Harm caught her yawning as he   
shifted in his seat for the millionth time, trying to get comfortable.  
  
"Tired, Marine?" he asked, grinning, as she tried to stretch a bit,   
even in the confined space.  
  
She gave him a sleepy smile. "A bit. Spent last night packing, ya   
know. How 'bout you?"  
  
He sighed, shifting again. "Just trying to get comfortable," he   
said, trying to copy her stretch and attempting to stand a bit.  
  
"Harm--"  
  
*Clunk*. The back of Harm's head connected with the bulkhead   
above. Craning his neck, he shot the offending object an affronted   
glare before dropping back into his seat with a sigh.  
  
And looked over to see Mac giving him the combination   
amused/frustrated/sympathetic look she usually saved for a misbehaving   
AJ Roberts. "Sorry, Mac," he said sheepishly.  
  
It was the look on his face, reminiscent of a little boy caught   
with his hand in the cookie jar, that did it. "C'mon, flyboy," she   
said, pushing the armrest between the seats back, "let's see if we can   
get you comfortable enough to stop fidgeting."  
  
He looked even guiltier, if that was possible, and she couldn't help   
but laugh. "It's all right, Harm," she said, standing and retrieving   
two pillows and a blanket from the overhead compartment, "I know they   
don't exactly make these things for normal people. Even I'm a bit   
cramped."  
  
He took the pillows and blanket as she sat back down. "So I'm   
guessing you have a solution in mind?"  
  
"Maybe," she said, reaching for the pillows. "That is, if you don't   
mind," she added hesitantly.  
  
He smiled at her, a true, genuine smile with only a hint of the   
typical flyboy cockiness present. "Whatever you've got planned, it's   
got to be better than this," he joked.  
  
"Well, okay." With that, she reached across him, stuffing the two   
pillows around the armrest and against the wall, then curled her knees   
under her and moved over to give him as much room as possible. "If you   
lean against the wall and swing your legs over here, you can stretch   
out a bit more," she suggested.  
  
"But Mac, you can't stay like that the whole way."  
  
"I'll be fine," she insisted.  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
He positioned himself as suggested, back to the window and legs   
stretched out to the aisle. He had to admit, it was a lot more   
comfortable. Then he looked at Mac.  
  
She was trying to curl into a ball and sleep against the far side   
of her seat, her legs still folded underneath her. "Mac," he said   
quietly, "That can't be comfortable."  
  
"Harm, I'll be fine," she insisted.  
  
"Yeah, but I won't. I'll feel like a total jerk for the rest of   
the trip. C'mon, stand up a minute," he directed.  
  
Too tired to argue, she did so, and he swung one leg up on to the   
seat. "Now come here," he ordered gently, pulling her down rest between   
his legs, her back against his chest. "Better?"  
  
Mac tried her hardest not to blush. "Yes," she admitted.  
  
"Good. Now you're comfortable, and I'm comfortable, so why don't   
we try to get some sleep," he suggested. "I have a feeling you got   
about as much sleep as I did last night."  
  
She was already relaxing against him. "I didn't get any sleep,"   
she mumbled, as he settled the blanket around them both.  
  
"That's what I thought," he replied, his voice barely above a   
whisper, as he carefully slid an arm around her waist.  
  
" 'Night, Harm."  
  
"Sleep well, Sarah."  
  
  
*****************************  
Alley in Yekaterinburg, Russia  
Same Day  
  
  
Mercedes struggled wildly against the arms that held her, her only   
focus on getting away. As she felt the hand over her mouth flex and   
begin to tighten, she opened her mouth and bit down, hard. A sharp   
curse accompanied its departure.  
  
"Dammit, Mercedes, STOP!" a voice hissed in her ear.  
  
She stopped cold. No way. She did not recognize that voice, did not   
just chomp down on its owner's hand--  
  
"Clayton Webb?!?" She gasped, turning around. "What the hell are   
you doing here?" she whispered furiously.  
  
"I could ask you that same damn question," he hissed back, holding   
his injured hand. "You bit me!"  
  
"I thought you were one of the bad guys! What the hell was I   
supposed to do?!?"  
  
"Not that! Besides, I've been trying to catch you for three   
blocks!"  
  
"You were the one tailing me?" she asked in surprise.  
  
"No, it was Boris Yeltsin," he snapped sarcastically.  
  
Mercedes began to see red. "Well, excuse me, Herr Webb! I had a few   
things on my mind, after running from some assassin who killed Georgi,   
tried to kill me, and take the remains, before climbing down a rusted-  
out fire escape that decided to collapse before I got off it!!!" she   
hissed back.  
  
Webb just stared at her. "Wait. Someone tried to kill you and   
steal the remains?"  
  
"Yes, that's what I just told you," she said with forced patience.  
  
"Oh shit."  
  
"Eloquently put."  
  
Webb grabbed her by the arm and began dragging her toward the alley   
exit. "Come on. They'll be hunting for you, and they're not going to   
stop. That and we need to go get those remains."  
  
Mercedes dug in her heels. "Wait just a verdammte minute. Who's   
hunting for me? Why? And we don't need to go back for the remains, I've   
got them."  
  
Webb stopped. "You've got them?"  
  
She just looked at him. "You don't really think I'd leave him   
behind?" she said softly. "I think that's already been done enough."  
  
He nodded. He'd underestimated Mercedes Rabb a bit, although he   
didn't know why. Not anymore. "Look, Mercedes," he said, quietly but   
urgently, "there are going to be a lot of people after you, and after   
those remains. Which means that as of right now, my main concern is   
to get them and you the hell out of Russia. I'm going to need you to   
trust me, at least for now."  
  
She nodded. "Fair enough," she replied, and together they moved to   
the entrance to the alley. "So what do we do n---"  
  
Suddenly, her eyes went wide. Webb turned to look what she saw,   
but never got a chance. Mercedes grabbed the front of his coat and   
pulled him back against her and the wall behind her, hissing, "play   
along", before abruptly bringing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.  
  
  
TBC.... 


	11. Chapter 10

Mercedes didn't have time to think when she saw the police car at   
the end of the street. Her mind screamed for her to hide, even though   
there wasn't time. So she did the only thing she could think of.   
While two people standing in an alley talking was suspicious, a couple   
making out wasn't.  
  
So she grabbed Webb's coat, pulling him in close to her, her back   
against the wall. Their faces inches apart, she whispered urgently,   
"Play along," then brought his lips to her own in a simple, chaste   
kiss.  
  
But as their lips met, something happened. Maybe it was the fine   
brandy he tasted faintly of, or the barest hint of exotic sandalwood   
she caught in the masculine scent surrounding her. But in the back of   
her mind, she wondered if she was losing control.  
  
Clay knew he was. Atypically caught off guard by her actions, his   
senses were under assault. One touch of her silken lips, the slightest   
taste of her, and he had to have more. He deepened the kiss, pressing   
closer to her as one hand tightened on her waist, the other sinking   
into her thick, soft hair.  
  
Mercedes responded in kind, her own hands finding their way to   
caress his chest through his sweater, her whole body pressing closer to   
his. Everything seemed to fade away as the passion grew between them   
out of control; the danger, their pursuers, the chill of the night   
around them all but forgotten. When the tip of his tongue lightly   
traced the seam of her lips, she couldn't help but gasp at the intimate   
gesture.  
  
Clay wasted no time taking advantage of the situation. His tongue   
slipped past her slightly parted lips, reaching in to duel with hers in   
a heated battle. Backing her up, his body pressed her against the   
nearby wall, effectively trapping her. With the cold from the stones   
creeping up her back, her only reaction was to try to get closer to the   
heat in front of her.  
  
Moving down his sides underneath his heavy coat, her hands traced   
along the hem of his sweater for just a moment before moving under to   
touch his bare skin. His stomach muscles contracted, as if jolted by   
the electricity in her touch, but still their mouths never broke   
contact. With a growl, Clay deepened their kiss, tilting his mouth over   
and over hers as his hands mirrored hers, seeking out the skin at her   
waist.  
  
Mercedes sighed deeply as she felt the feather-light touch of his   
hands on her skin, resting over her hipbones and caressing the warm   
smooth skin there. Her hands moved lower on his back, seeking.  
  
But then his own hands began to mimic hers, gliding towards her   
back...her back...the scars... "No!" she gasped out, desperately   
shoving his hands away, squirming away from him. Her mind raced,   
panicked. He couldn't know about the scars. No one could. They were   
too much...  
  
"Mercedes?" Clay asked, completely bewildered. "What...?" He   
wasn't quite sure how or when things had gotten so completely out of   
hand, nor did he want to think about where things would have ended up   
had they not stopped. But looking at Mercedes, instinct told him   
something was very wrong. She looked as he might have expected--except   
her face was dead white, her eyes wide and dilated, and her normally   
steady hands were shaking badly. If he didn't know better, he'd say   
she was on the verge of having a panic attack. And she sure as hell   
hadn't been that way a moment ago.  
  
For her part, Mercedes was simply struggling to get herself back   
under control. She had to. Control was everything to her. She forced   
herself to ignore Webb, bringing her breathing and her racing heart   
back closer to normal. Finally, she dared to look at Clay again.   
"Let's go. We've got to keep moving," she told him, trying to ignore   
the concern on his face.  
  
What the hell? Two minutes ago they'd been ready to go at right   
there against the wall, one minute ago she looked like she'd seen a   
ghost, and now it was all business? But dammit, she was right. He   
nodded, adding, "We need to get out of the city. I have a car, but it'd   
be too visible. We'll have to go on foot for now," he said, holding out   
his hand to her.  
  
After a moment's hesitation, she nodded, weaving her fingers   
through his and grasping his hand firmly. Without another word, they   
disappeared into the darkness of alley.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	12. Chapter 11

December 4  
Moscow  
Above Sheremetevo-2 Airport  
1635 local  
  
  
Mac woke when the flight attendant gently shook her shoulder,   
informing her that they would be landing soon. Mac thanked her, then   
turned her head a bit to look at her still-dozing partner. For all   
that he complained about getting older, he was still an extremely   
attractive man. Asleep, his face relaxed, he looked almost boyish,   
particularly with the slight smile that was currently on his face.  
  
Moving carefully, she tried to extricate herself from his grasp,   
intending to wake him. But he was having none of it, and instead   
tightened his arms around her waist.  
  
Mac sighed. It wasn't like she couldn't get out of his grasp if   
she really wanted; then again, it would be nice if Harm still had two   
functional, non-broken arms for this little excursion. She looked down   
at her hands in her lap, thinking. As she studied her now-empty left   
hand, some imp of the perverse tickled her thoughts. What the hell...   
she was a free woman, they were far from being on duty and in   
uniform.... might as well have a little fun with her flyboy.  
  
Again, she shifted position carefully, to where she was almost on   
her side, facing forward. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she began   
idly tracing patterns on Harm's jean-covered thigh. She felt him move   
slightly, and let her fingers wander up over his hip to play on his   
stomach. Apparently still asleep, he sighed, squirming just a little.  
  
Mac was enjoying this immensely--and judging by Harm's reactions,   
she wasn't the only one. Unfortunately, as she was contemplating what   
to do next, the fasten seatbelts sign came on. Rats. Just when she was   
beginning to have some fun... Oh well, might as well get in one last   
shot.  
  
Leaning close, her fingers still tracing nondescript patterns on   
his shirt-covered stomach, Mac pressed close and placed her lips right   
next to his ear. "Harm," she whispered breathily, "Wake up. We're   
landing."  
  
An incomprehensible half-sigh, half-murmur was her answer. Time for   
the heavy artillery. She let her fingers slowly drift to his side...and   
began tickling him mercilessly.  
  
A yelp accompanied the jump that nearly had him hitting his head   
for a second time. Mac scooted back to her own seat, trying to stifle   
her laughter behind her hand. That had been simply too much fun.  
  
Initially surprised and confused, comprehension dawned on Harm when   
he glanced at the snickering Marine. Damn. What a way to end a such a   
great dream...then again, she'd caused it in the first place. Shooting   
her a dark look, he began to comment, "Playing dirty there, Mac--", but   
stopped short. Mac was hiding her laughter behind her hand--her now-  
empty left hand.  
  
Mac saw his gaze zero in on her hand, and realized what had caught   
his attention. The laughter left her instantly. Sighing, she said   
resignedly, "I guess you're wondering about this," waving the bare   
hand.  
  
Harm knew he was on potentially dangerous ground, and had better   
tread carefully. What was it Mercedes had always preached? Oh, yeah.   
The K.I.S.S. rule. Keep it simple, stupid. ...KISS rule... Mac...   
kissing Mac...  
  
"Harm?"  
  
He quickly snapped his wandering mind back to the matter at hand.   
"Sorry. Mind wandered a bit. Mac, it's up to you," he said, gesturing   
toward her empty hand. "All I want to know is if it's permanent or   
temporary," he added, a bit sheepishly.  
  
Her eyebrows rose at that last comment. If she didn't know better,   
she'd take that as a sign of interest. But he'd rejected her   
before.... hadn't he?  
  
For the first time, Mac began to wonder just what he'd meant by   
"Not yet". At the time, and for quite a while afterwards, she'd simply   
taken it as his polite way of refusing. Maybe...?  
  
"It's permanent," she answered firmly, and couldn't help but notice   
the seemingly relieved smile that followed her statement.  
  
"Mind if I ask what happened?" he asked cautiously.  
  
She shrugged. "He forbid me to come along with you, saying I had   
to choose. When he tried to order me around like that, I guess that   
was the last straw." She gave him a cautious look. "I told him there   
was no need to choose between the two of you, but if he was going to   
make me, I picked you. You always stood by me, but lately, Mic seemed   
to care only about himself. So I took my key back, gave him the ring,   
and threw him out of the house."  
  
"Wow," was all he said, although there was a little voice in the   
back of his head chanting 'she chose me! she chose me!' in a singsong   
voice. Then he remembered that he had a rather important bit of   
information to share as well. "Well, it seems like this trip was a hit   
with both our ...um, significant others."  
  
He definitely had her attention now. "Oh?"  
  
"Yeah, Renee threw a fit and issued a ultimatum, too. Her or   
Russia." He grinned, full power. "Guess which one I picked."  
  
Mac could only stare for a moment, and then she couldn't help it-   
she just started laughing. "God, we make a helluva team, flyboy," she   
finally got out as the plane began its final descent.  
  
He took her hand in his own, saying, "The best, Mac. The best."  
  
  
***********  
45 minutes later  
  
  
"Okay, Mac, you're the expert here. What do you suggest?" Harm and   
Mac had finally made their way through the airport, and were now   
standing near one of the exits.  
  
"Harm, it's your trip," Mac replied, a bit of exasperation in her   
voice.  
  
"I know. I mean, I guess we should get to Yekaterinburg, and see   
if we can find Mercedes."  
  
"And Webb," Mac added. "Well, the train's probably the best way to   
get there and keep a low profile." She glanced at Harm. "We are going   
to try to keep a low profile, right?"  
  
"Right," he confirmed. "No up-for-auction cabdrivers, no KGB   
agents, nobody. Find Mercedes and maybe Webb, if he's here, and that's   
it." He paused, thinking. "If we're trying to stay unnoticed, we'd   
better take the Metro or the bus to get to the train station."  
  
"Agreed. Let's go."  
  
He took her hand again as the headed for the Metro platform.   
Finding the right track, they stood, waiting for the subway to arrive.  
  
He turned to look at her as the train pulled in. "I meant it,   
Mac. This time, it's just you and me."  
  
Mac grinned. This trip was getting better and better.  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	13. Chapter 12

December 3  
Yekaterinburg  
0649 local  
  
  
They had been running all night, dodging police and hiding in   
the shadows. Webb moved quickly but silently, pausing only to avoid   
discovery. Mercedes scrambled to keep up, wondering what he had   
planned. But daylight was creeping forward, eliminating the darkness   
that was their ally.  
  
They hurried around a corner, then paused, Mercedes following   
Webb's lead and pretending interest in the shop window in front of   
them. Mercedes fought down alarm as he put an arm around her   
shoulders, pulling her close.  
  
"Relax," he whispered, "just pretend I'm your boyfriend or   
whatever."  
  
Realizing his ruse, Mercedes tried to play along, somewhat   
awkwardly putting her arm around his waist. "Why are we stopping?"   
she whispered.  
  
He moved closer, whispering into her ear. "We need to find a   
place to lay low for a day or two. If we stay out of sight, they'll   
assume we've moved on."  
  
She nodded slightly. "Any ideas?"  
  
"There's some hunting lodges northeast of the city that are   
rented out in the summer to tourists. They should be empty now."  
  
"Great, but how do we get there?" she asked, trying not to let   
on how much his warm breath caressing her ear was affecting her.  
  
If Clayton Webb had been the upstanding, honorable-at-all-costs   
type of person, like, say, Harmon Rabb, he never would have taken   
advantage of the game they were currently playing. But he wasn't; he   
was a sneaky, underhanded spook, he reminded himself, which meant he   
took his chances when they appeared.  
  
So when she asked her last question, his response was to draw   
her in closer still, turning her to face him. With a gentle caress   
of his hand on her cheek, her guided her lips to his own for a long   
leisurely kiss.  
  
It was moment before the broke apart, Mercedes looking at Clay   
with wide eyes. Resting his forehead on hers, he grinned at her.   
"Ever steal a car?"  
  
  
****************************************************************  
December 4  
Moscow Metro  
1816 local  
  
  
"C'mon Mac," Harm urged, wading through the mass of people   
flooding the Metro station. "This is the train we want."  
  
Behind him, Mac was trying desperately to keep up. "Harm, slow   
down," she ordered. "We'll make the train." She stumbled backwards   
as one particularly rude person pushed past her. "Remind me, whose   
bright idea was it to get on the subway at rush hour?"  
  
They finally made it to the crowded platform, Harm having   
insisted on holding her hand. "Just to make sure we don't get   
separated," he had insisted. Not that she was complaining, mind you.  
  
The train pulled up, and as one mass of people pushed their way   
out, another forced their way in. Harm and Mac made it in just as   
the doors snapped shut behind them.  
  
"Well, isn't this cozy," Mac muttered. People were packed into   
the car like the proverbial sardines. Forget sitting down; there was   
barely room to stand.  
  
"You're not claustrophobic, Mac? A big, bad jarhead like you?"   
Harm teased.  
  
"Of course not," she shot back. "I just dislike not having room   
to move--at all."  
  
"Well--" Harm began, but just then the train lurched and swayed,   
and its passengers with it. As the passengers moved, Mac was pressed   
even closer to Harm, torso to torso, face to face.  
  
The forced contact caught them both unawares, leaving Mac   
blushing and stealing Harm's breath. They stared at each other,   
unable to look away, both their minds telling them to say   
*something*.  
  
Mac was first. "Ummm...hi."  
  
Harm grinned back. "Hi."  
  
"Close quarters."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It bother you?" she asked.  
  
"Not a bit," he replied, putting an arm around her waist.  
  
They stayed like that until they reached the train station.  
  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	14. Chapter 13

December 3  
Yekaterinburg  
1750 local  
  
  
CD and Webb had spent the day hiding in a back alley, but were now   
ready to 'acquire transportation'. At Webb's suggestion, they had   
found a nightclub run by the local mafiya. Sure enough, the parking   
lot was filled with high-priced automobiles...and security.  
  
"Well, what now, master thief?" CD asked sarcastically.  
  
Clay smiled. "We use what's available to us," he replied.  
  
Mercedes's face scrunched in confusion. "I don't follow."  
  
"Exactly. You stay here, I'll go get us a car."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Relax. I'll handle it," he said, before darting off.  
  
She sighed in frustration. Men. Act first, think later.  
Cautiously, she moved into a spot where she could see, but still stay   
hidden.  
  
She watched and waited. Sure enough, a few minutes later, several   
cars in the back of the lot let loose with a cacophony of noise as   
their alarms were triggered. While the guards all rushed to the   
commotion in the back, she saw Webb quickly scramble up and over the   
fence at the front.  
  
But as the alarms began to shut off, there was no sign of him, and   
Mercedes began to worry. When only two of the alarms remained active,   
she decided. Oh well...she was never any good at waiting, anyway.  
  
A quick glance showed the guards still occupied in the back, so,   
copying Webb, she clambered to the top of the fence and over, dropping   
to the ground and quickly diving behind an SUV. She was in... now to   
find Webb.  
  
  
******  
  
  
Clay had chosen a car easily; a large black Mercedes Benz sedan   
sat near the front, but close to wall of the club, leaving it in   
shadow. While he'd disarmed the alarm easily enough, hotwiring it was   
turning into a problem. There was some sort of secondary anti-theft   
device built into the wiring that he had to work around, and it was   
taking too much time. At least he'd gotten the interior light off   
before anyone noticed.  
  
"Allow me," a voice whispered in his ear at the same time he felt   
the warmth of her body behind him. A pair of slim-fingered white hands   
reached in, moving past his own.  
  
"Mercedes! What the…! I told you to stay put, dammit!"  
  
"Yes, and you also said you could handle this. I can see you've   
done a spectacular job so far," she hissed sarcastically.  
  
"And you can do better?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, yes. Now get your butt in the verdammte   
passenger seat and watch for guards," she ordered, whispering.  
  
Clay did as instructed, crawling down on to the floor of the   
car. "Be careful. There's a secondary device--"  
  
"--That locks the ignition if you try to hotwire it the regular   
way. I know. Here," she said, passing him her bag, "hang on to this and   
get ready to move. We won't have a lot of time once the engine fires   
up."  
  
He took the bag, saying, "But we need to switch places."  
  
Mercedes's were now deftly pulling down wires from the dashboard   
and unhooking and reconnecting them. "Why?"  
  
"I'm driving. The car's got a manual transmission."  
  
She looked at him, humor sparkling in her blue eyes and an odd   
look on her face. "Relax. I can drive a stick."  
  
Indecision warred on his face for a moment before he answered.   
"Fine. But if we get caught, you're explaining this."  
  
She simply nodded, her attention on the wires in front of her.  
A moment later, she looked up at him. "Get ready," was all she said, as   
she slid up into the driver's seat.  
  
He nodded, and she pushed the clutch to the floor, then tapped two   
wires together. The engine came to life with a rumbling hum.  
Sitting up, she glanced around, but no one had noticed yet. They will   
in a moment, she thought.  
  
"Get in the seat and put the belt on," she ordered Webb, who   
complied even as she secured her own seat belt. Another quick glance   
around, then she turned back to Clay. "Here we go," she whispered   
breathlessly, as an impish grin came over her face. "As the hurricane   
told the palm tree, hang on to your nuts!"  
  
With that, she flipped on the lights, revved the engine and   
punched into first gear. The car jumped forward with a roar, sending   
the guards into confusion. A quick jump to second, then double-  
clutching up to third, she wove her way through the parked cars and   
aimed for the gate.  
  
The car barreled through, sending the gate flying. They were well   
down the street and turning a corner before any of the guards even made   
it to the front of the lot.  
  
Inside the car, Mercedes relaxed a bit, having checked and found   
no one following them. She turned to Webb. "Well, that went better   
than expected. Where to?"  
  
Webb could only stare at her.  
  
  
***********************************************************************  
December 5  
Trans-Siberian Railway  
Between Gor'kiy and Vyatka  
2237 local  
  
  
The old woman pushed the snack cart slowly down the corridor,   
looking for an occupied cabin. There weren't many passengers on this   
late trip, but those who were might want a bit of refreshment before   
trying to sleep.  
  
She moved to the next compartment and peeked in, smiling at what   
she saw. Ah, to be young and in love, she thought, looking at the dark-  
haired couple snuggled together.  
  
The man, tall and black-haired, had stretched out, propping his   
feet on the opposite seat. The auburn-haired woman next to him sat with   
her legs over his, bent at the knee to dangle centimeters from the   
floor. They were wrapped in a close embrace, arms around each others'   
waists, her head tucked in the warm crook of his neck, as his rested   
against hers.  
  
The old woman sighed, then began pushing her cart further down   
the aisle. Those two didn't need her or anything on her cart; from   
what she could see, with her wise old eyes, all they needed was each   
other.  
  
  
TBC.... 


	15. Chapter 14

December 4  
Approximately 10 miles NE of Yekaterinburg  
0234 local  
  
  
"Turn here," Webb directed, pointing to the dirt and gravel road   
nearly hidden by the trees.  
  
"You're sure?" Mercedes asked uncertainly.  
  
Webb nodded, and she steered the large sedan carefully on to the   
uneven road, going slowly.  
  
A short while later, they pulled up in front of a large log-cabin-  
like structure. Mercedes pulled the car around to the side and shut   
the engine off, then looked at Webb, a question on her face. He said   
nothing, but motioned for her to follow.  
  
They walked around to the front door, where Mercedes watched as  
Webb pulled a small case from inside his coat. He opened it, choosing   
two small files, and began to work on the lock.  
  
"Don't you need some light?" Mercedes asked.  
  
"Nope." Two clicks, and the door opened. "I learned to work by   
feel alone." He held the door open. "After you."  
  
Mercedes walked in carefully, trying to see in the near-complete   
darkness. "Okay, you've gotta admit, *now* we could use some light."  
  
A spot of light shone from behind her, and she turned to find Webb   
holding a small flashlight. "There's a generator outside, but I think   
we'd be better off not using it-- it could attract attention. This   
place should be well equipped, anyway, to get by without it. Now stay   
here for a minute. I'll try to go find us some more light."  
  
Mercedes nodded, letting him go ahead. Sure enough, a moment   
later, several oil lamps and candles had flared to life, providing a   
warm glow throughout the simple cabin.  
  
It was essentially a one-room building, with a central fireplace   
along one wall, and the space split between a small kitchen area and a   
bedroom area containing one large bed layered in blankets and quilts.  
Wait...*one* bed? Terrific. Just great, Mercedes thought. She   
groaned, then moved to start working on a fire in the fireplace.  
  
"What was that for?" Webb asked.  
  
Scheisse. He'd heard her. "Um, nothing. I was just really   
looking forward to a hot shower," she replied. Not exactly the truth,   
but hardly a lie. After everything she'd been through, including her   
crash landing into the garbage heap, she could've killed for a shower.  
  
"I know what you mean," Clay answered, as he continued to   
investigate the house. Finding an unknown door, he called, "Hang on.   
If this is what I think it is, you might get the next best thing." He   
was gone before she could ask what he meant.  
  
Reappearing a few minutes later, he smiled as he called to her.  
"You're in luck. There's an old-fashioned bath house attached to this   
place. Give the fire a little while, and you can take a nice warm   
bath."  
  
She jumped up, a hopeful look on her face. "You're kidding."  
  
"Nope." Clay grinned. "Your bath awaits, Madame."  
  
Clay could only watch in amazement as she ran over to her bag,   
fishing out a pile of clothing and a small case of toiletries.   
Hurrying over to him, she stopped short. "You are a wonderful man,   
Clayton Webb," she announced, before soundly kissing him. Then, just   
as suddenly, she disappeared down the corridor to the bathhouse.  
  
Clay could only stand there.  
  
  
****  
  
  
It was a good forty minutes before Mercedes returned, feeling much   
better, worlds cleaner, and incredibly self-conscious. The reason for   
the latter was her nightshirt. A loose, white, poet's-shirt-type   
affair, it blessedly hid the worst of her scars, particularly her   
back. However, it left her nearly unscarred legs almost completely   
uncovered, the hem stopping halfway to her knees. She really loathed   
being tall sometimes. So it was with a great deal of trepidation that   
she returned, finding Clay sitting in front of a roaring fire.  
  
He turned around at the sound of the door closing. "Enjoy your--  
-" he started, only to stop at the sight of her. There she was, her   
long blonde hair loose and gleaming gold in firelight, the ultra-  
feminine nightshirt showing just enough to fire the imagination, and   
her legs...Oh, Lord, her legs. By this point in his life, Clay   
considered himself immune to most feminine charms, but if he had a   
weakness, it was that he was a leg man. And right now, he was looking   
at a pair that could've given Betty Grable a run for her money.   
"...bath," he finally managed to get out in a breathy voice.  
  
Mercedes turned bright red. "Umm, it's your turn, if you'd like,"   
she said quietly, looking at her feet. To make matters worse, there   
were still the sleeping arrangements to discuss. "Uh, I'll just take   
the floor in front of the fire tonight. You can have the bed," she   
offered.  
  
He looked at her. "What?"  
  
"You can have the bed. I'll take the floor."  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
"No," she said, nervously.  
  
Webb raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, we're   
both adults. I think we can handle sleeping in the same bed."  
  
She turned away, embarrassed. "Maybe you can," she whispered,   
then turned back to him. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you or   
anything, it's just-- well.... it's a long story," she finished lamely.  
  
Clay regarded her for a few minutes before speaking. "We'll   
discuss this when I get done, alright?" he said, then headed toward the   
bathhouse.  
  
But for Mercedes, there was nothing to discuss. Taking the top   
quilt from the bed, she wrapped herself in it and settled down to sleep   
in front of the fire as best she could.  
  
  
****  
  
  
Twenty minutes later, Clay returned from his bath, tired but   
relaxed. "Look, Mercedes--" he began, only to spot her asleep on the   
floor by the fire. He watched her for a moment, then moved to the bed   
and pulled back the covers.  
  
Carefully, he scooped her up in his arms, trying not to notice when   
she snuggled in closer to his warmth. Gently he laid her on the bed   
and pulled the covers over her, before climbing in on the other   
side. Lying down beside her, he studied her face for a moment, before   
giving in to sleep himself.  
  
  
  
TBC......... 


	16. Chapter 15

Approximately 10 miles NE of Yekaterinburg  
December 4  
1817 local  
  
  
It was gray; completely, totally gray, with nothing to   
distinguish the surroundings. She was cold and hot at the same time,   
and soaked to the skin. The steady ache of her body, the smooth but   
changing vibrations that penetrated to the bone, and the high-pitched   
whine, ear-splitting even through layers of material, told her   
everything was as it should be. But like a tiny metal sliver embedded   
deeply in the skin, doubt and fear stuck in her mind, growing harder   
and harder to ignore.  
  
She made the turn on to the main straight, the spotter's voice   
telling her all was clear, and pushed the engine as hard as it could   
go. She didn't like being out here and blind; but she knew Pedro was   
next car ahead of her, and she trusted her teammate to keep a   
safe distance and lead.  
  
Not just teammate, she thought with a smile. So, so much   
more....  
  
Her spotter began talking rapidly, too fast to understand...then   
screaming, the message lost in the static. Then.... Liebe Mutter Gott.  
  
A flash of spinning cars was all she got, just enough to   
recognize Pedro and Mika Anders, the rookie from Norway. Even with her   
well-honed reflexes, her foot was just touching the brake when her own   
car sliced into Anders's at the cockpit. A flash of thought told her   
to brake and release the wheel, but her body was no longer hers to   
control.  
  
Thrown forward with the force of the impact, her feet slammed   
into the cockpit wall as the restraints cut into her body through the   
thick Nomex of her suit. The top of her helmet grazed the steering   
wheel.  
  
Then it was there, gray and imposing. The cement barrier   
deflected their travel, removing some of the speed.  
  
Mercedes felt the crunching and twisting of the car body behind   
her, even as she was now flung sideways. The strain on her body and   
neck had her quickly fading consciousness, aware only of some   
disconnected pain in her legs and feet. As the darkness swept over   
her, she faintly registered the warm liquid draining down the back of   
her driving suit.  
  
Then consciousness came crashing back as the world erupted into   
flames....  
  
  
********  
  
  
The screaming cut through the silence enveloping the   
small hunting lodge. In seconds, Clay was out of bed, on his feet   
and armed, searching for the threat. Just as quickly, he saw there was   
no external threat; the banshee's wail was from Mercedes Rabb, caught   
in the grip of a nightmare.  
  
Putting down the sidearm, he quickly moved to sit on the bed.   
Shaking her arm gently, he spoke firmly. "Mercedes... Mercedes, wake   
up. Mercedes. MERCEDES!"  
  
Her eyes flew open as she stopped, taking a great, gasping gulp   
of air. "Ah, Gott," she breathed, rolling on to her side away from   
him and covering her face with her hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered,   
choking on a sob.  
  
Clay sat there a moment, confused and stunned. Then, slowly,   
gently, he reached out to gently place a hand on her arm. "Mercedes,"   
he said quietly, "tell me. Please."  
  
"The crash," was her whispered answer.  
  
"The crash? Were you in a car accident?" he asked carefully.   
He hadn't had time to gather much information on her background before   
all this, so he was uncharacteristically uninformed.  
  
She sighed, quickly regaining control. "Kind of, yes."  
  
"How can you 'kind of' be in an accident?"  
  
"The usual term is 'racing incident,'" she stated dully, sitting   
up in the bed, but looking away.  
  
"Racing?"  
  
She dared a glance at him, and sighed. It was obvious he was   
not about to let this go. "You've been hanging around my cousin too   
much," she muttered.  
  
"What has that got to do with anything?"  
  
"Never mind," she said somewhat testily, massaging her temple.   
"Look. Forensics wasn't my first career, okay?"  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I used to race sportscars, but quit due to a crash," she   
snapped, hoping that that would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.  
  
"You used to race sportscars," he echoed flatly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And a crash made you quit."  
  
"What are you, a parrot? Yes," she snapped.  
  
Clay ignored her sniping remark. "So you were dreaming about   
the crash. What happened?" he asked.  
  
Mercedes's nerves were frayed and ragged, and her rein on her   
temper snapped. "None of your goddamn business," she shot back,   
throwing the sheets aside and striding over to restart the fire, her   
previous self-consciousness largely forgotten in the wake of her   
temper.  
  
Unfortunately, her temper set off Clay's. "It's my goddamn   
business when the person I'm stuck sharing a bed with starts screaming   
like her hair's on fire!" he yelled.  
  
"The hell it is! And for your information," she added snidely,   
without thinking, "It was my back that was on fire. My *hair* was safe   
inside the helmet."  
  
Clay watched as she went pale, realizing what she had said. She   
dropped to the floor, covering her face. "I can't believe I just said   
that," she whispered brokenly.  
  
Clay said nothing, instead moving to sit across from her. For   
several long moments, he did nothing, said nothing, then slowly, gently   
reached out to caress the side of her face. "The burns were bad?" he   
asked quietly.  
  
She'd already let it slip; she might as well tell him the   
details. "Severe third degree. The doctors were amazed I survived.   
The fuel tank was behind the cockpit, and it ruptured from the second   
impact. It was an alcohol-based fuel, rather than petroleum, so it   
burned hotter and faster than you might expect. The burns were so   
severe because the fuel had soaked my driving suit, and since I had   
been thrown forward in the car, air could reach it to burn. It was a   
full year and a half before they were completely healed, at least as   
much as they could be," she finished, her voice a monotone.  
  
He couldn't believe what he had heard. He'd seen men badly   
burned before, and knew the pain was excruciating in a way unique to   
burns. As his mind swirled with what he'd been told, it occurred to   
him that there had likely been quite a few other injuries for her to   
deal with as well. To come back from that.... "Wait....Mercedes,   
you're not that old."  
  
She smiled weakly. "I'm not quite sure how to take that."  
  
"No, no, I mean...after the crash, you went to school...And that   
was sometime around '93, so you've been in forensics for a while....   
Mercedes, how old were you when this happened?"  
  
She sighed, looking away. "I started racing professionally at   
18. The accident happened in '88... I was twenty-two."  
  
An odd, unexpected pain shot through him. Gently, carefully, he   
reached for her, guiding her into his arms. "I'm so sorry," he   
whispered, holding her close.  
  
Mercedes gave in, closing her eyes, accepting the unexpected   
comfort of his arms.  
  
It was some time before either moved from the embrace. And   
then, it was only for Clay to guide an exhausted Mercedes back to the   
bed, holding her until she fell into a deep, blessedly dreamless   
sleep. It wasn't long before he joined her.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	17. Chapter 16

The cabin outside Yekaterinburg  
December 5  
0720 local  
  
  
Mercedes was one of those people who, when allowed, woke up in   
stages. At the moment, she was mainly registering two things: One,   
someone was snoring, and two, while the air she was breathing in seemed   
distinctly cold, she was blessedly, blissfully, delightfully warm.   
Cautiously, she cracked open an eye... and found herself getting an   
extremely up close look at Clayton Webb's neck.  
  
Ah. Well. At least she knew who was snoring. As the rest of her   
wits began reporting in, she also realized why she was warm when the   
air was freezing. There were multiple blankets draped over her, and   
*she* was draped over him. Damn. For someone who'd effectively lived   
like a nun for 14 years, her subconscious was certainly making up for   
lost time. Then again...was this a bad thing?  
  
She pushed that thought aside, her mind too muddled to deal with   
it. What was clear was that she'd obviously forgotten to get the fire   
going again. Great. Somebody was going to have to freeze their butt   
off to get the damn thing going again.  
  
She sighed deeply, considering options, when Clay spoke. "You're   
breathing on my neck."  
  
She craned her neck to look at him. "How observant of you," she   
replied dryly.  
  
He opened his eyes, giving her a look. "Don't do it again."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Just don't."  
  
She frowned at him, than began to grin. "It tickles, doesn't it?"  
  
"That's classified."  
  
"Un-hunh. Well then, I know how you can avoid that problem?" she   
said, still grinning, blue eyes sparkling.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yeah. Go get the fire going while I stay here. I won't be   
anywhere near your neck then."  
  
"You wouldn't be anywhere near it either if *you* took care of the   
fire."  
  
"Yeah... but you're the guy. You're supposed to all the manly,   
macho things like fire-building and such, to protect a delicate flower   
such as myself from such strenuous exertions," she said, throwing in a   
bit of eyelash-batting and a fake southern accent for effect.  
  
Clay shot her an evil look, even as her climbed out of bed and   
headed for the fireplace. "You're about as delicate as that tank of a   
car outside," he grumbled. "Somehow it fits that you've got the same   
name."  
  
She groaned. "You would have to mention the car-name thing,   
wouldn't you."  
  
He eyed her speculatively. "Why do I get the feeling there's a   
story there.  
  
"Because there is," she said, wearily. "My Dad was a racer too."  
  
He paused in his work to shoot her a look. "Your father named you   
after a *car*?" he said, disbelief in his voice.  
  
She sighed. "No, he named me after two cars." He looked at her in   
confusion. "My full name is Mercedes Portia Rabb." She rolled her   
eyes. "At least he used the Latin spelling for my middle name."  
  
"Mercedes Portia," Clay repeated.  
  
She nodded.  
  
He turned back to the hearth, finishing his task. The room   
temperature soon began to climb, but nonetheless, Clay wasted no time   
hurrying back under the covers.  
  
They were quiet for a few moments before Clay spoke. "Clayton   
Nigel Francis Webb."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I was named after my Grandfathers."  
  
"Ah." She paused. "Nigel Francis?" He nodded.  
  
A pensive look came over her face. "Hmmm. Well, that was fun.   
Food?"  
  
"Agreed."  
  
  
****************  
  
  
Twenty minutes later, they had scrounged up a passable meal from   
the fairly well stocked larder. CD, feeling slightly relaxed for the   
first time in days, had simply pulled on her jeans under her   
nightshirt, then grabbed her food and dropped down cross-legged to sit   
in front of the fire. Clay, ever adaptable, had joined her, and a   
lively discussion was now in progress.  
  
"So you work for the State Department?" she asked.  
  
Clay sighed. "Sometimes."  
  
"And other times?" she prodded.  
  
"Other groups."  
  
"Like...?"  
  
His response was automatic. "That's classified."  
  
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You know, that's at least   
the second time you've used that phrase." She bit her lip, thinking.   
"You work for the Agency, don't you?"  
  
Out of habit, he opened his mouth to deny it, then changed his   
mind. "Yes, but don't spread that around."  
  
She laughed. "Clay," she said, gesturing, "who'm I going to tell?   
Besides, at this point, that's a definite good thing."  
  
"It is?" he asked, mildly surprised.  
  
"I'm on the run in the middle of Russia. Think about it."  
  
"True," he admitted, even as he turned the tables. "Okay, you know   
a secret of mine. Now tell me one of yours."  
  
Her eyebrows rose. "Classified information?"  
  
He grinned. "Turnabout's fair play."  
  
"Oh, all right. Fine." She looked heavenward, thinking. "Okay.   
I've got tattoos."  
  
"Plural?"  
  
"Yup. Three of them."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Oh, here and there," she said airily. At his look, she gave in.   
"One near each hip, but I'm not telling about the third."  
  
"I see," Clay was beginning to have a hard time concentrating on   
the conversation...  
  
...Which meant he missed the thoroughly wicked sparkle that came   
into her eyes. "Actually," she said, leaning forward and crooking her   
finger at him, "I can tell you an even bigger secret about one of the   
tattoos, and it involves my cousin, too."  
  
"Harm?"  
  
She nodded. "When I finished high school, I spent a summer with   
him & his Mom in California... he and I both got one that summer."  
  
Webb couldn't believe his ears. "You're kidding."  
  
"Nope. Same as mine, only a little smaller. It's right about   
here," she said, gesturing a few inches in from her right hipbone, just   
below her waist.  
  
Webb shook his head in amazement. "Somebody needs to tell Mac."  
  
It was Mercedes turn to look confused. "Hunh?"  
  
"She has one, and Harm's been hassling her about it for years," he   
explained.  
  
"Oh *really*," Mercedes said, and Clay could see the wheels   
turning. Harm was in for it, he could tell.  
  
"You're going to enjoy informing her about that, aren't you?" Clay   
asked, grinning.  
  
She looked affronted for a moment, before grinning back. "You   
bet, spyboy."  
  
"Spyboy?!? Why..." His protest was cut off by her laughter, and the   
rest of the evening was spent in conversation and companionship.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	18. Chapter 17

Yekaterinburg  
City Morgue  
December 6  
1530 local  
  
  
"This is the place?"  
  
"According to the sign, yeah," Mac replied, looking at the dreary   
building, before turning to him. "Welcome to the Yekaterinburg City   
Morgue. I don't suppose you've got a plan?"  
  
Harm paused a moment to consider their options. "Only the obvious   
one."  
  
"Walk in and ask for Mercedes?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Harm, that's not a plan, that's painting targets on our backs,"   
Mac stated.  
  
"I said it was a plan, I didn't say it was a good one," he replied   
a little defensively. Mac just looked at him, her expression somewhere   
between amusement and irritation. "Besides, I don't hear you coming up   
with anything better, Marine," he added.  
  
She had to concede that point. "I just think going into a   
government office and asking for a foreigner may be a really bad idea,   
Harm. If--" Mac stopped short, then added, "Never mind."  
  
But Harm caught her slip. "What were you going to say, Mac?" he   
asked.  
  
"It's nothing, Harm. Now come on, we need to think of a better   
option."  
  
"Come on, Mac, what were you going to say?" he badgered.  
  
She sighed loudly. "Fine. If Mercedes is anything like you, she's   
already in trouble up to her eyeballs."  
  
He had the good grace to look affronted, but only for a moment   
before chuckling ruefully. "I should be insulted," he said grinning,   
"except it's true. Maybe I need to find CD a pet Marine to watch her   
six," he joked.  
  
Mac's eyebrows rose. "*Pet* Marine? More like a babysitter.   
Besides, if we're lucky she's got a spook on her tail."  
  
"Yeah. I wonder where the heck Webb is anyway?"  
  
  
**********************************************************************  
The Cabin outside Yekaterinburg  
Same time  
  
  
Clayton Webb was half-awake... and convinced he had died and gone   
to heaven. Here it was the middle of the afternoon, and he had nothing   
more demanding of his attention than what he was doing at the moment--   
lounging, half-dressed, in a warm, comfortable bed. That alone was   
cause for celebration, since there were weeks where the closest he got   
to sleeping in a bed were a few minutes of sleep snatched in a   
convenient chair.  
  
So the current situation was already better that usual. But it   
went beyond merely 'better', and was bordering on the stuff of dreams.   
For the warm, comfortable bed was in an isolated cabin, with a   
delightful fire roaring in the nearby hearth. But best of all, there   
was a soft, warm, beautiful and equally half-dressed female in the bed   
with him. And not just with him... In her sleep, she had moved so   
that her curvaceous figure was entwined with his body, her strong,   
silken, bare legs sliding between his own, and her warm breath tickling   
the crook of his neck.  
  
Much as he didn't want to admit it, Mercedes Rabb was becoming a   
very powerful distraction. He didn't want to consider that there might   
be more to it than that. It wasn't a luxury he could afford.  
  
A soft sound, a mix of a low murmur and a felinelike purr, came   
from beside him. He turned his head to look at her, only to find her   
gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes that held some indefinable   
emotion. Silence reigned as they simply gazed at each other.  
  
Clay watched as Mercedes's eyes dropped, focusing on his lips. She   
propped herself up a bit on one arm, while her other hand tentatively   
moved from its resting spot in his chest to trace the side of his   
face. Slowly, it traced the curve of his chin, before the tip of one   
slim finger slid up to trace the outline of his lips. Then, her leg   
sliding against his, she moved, this time caressing his lips with her   
own.  
  
It was too much. He leaned into the kiss, sliding his hands up her   
arms to caress her neck, before burying them in the white-gold silk of   
her hair. Eagerly, he returned the kiss, tracing the seam of her lips   
with his tongue.  
  
She responded in kind, granting his the desired access. Soon, they   
were engaged in a passionate duel as they explored each other's   
mouths. Only the mutual need for air caused them to stop, Mercedes   
burying her face in the crook of her neck.  
  
Slowly, agonizingly, Clay fought his way back to rational   
thought. "Mercedes," he began, her name coming out in a breathy   
whisper, "I don't think---"  
  
At that precise moment, she placed a soft, feather-light kiss   
where his pulse beat a furious rhythm beneath his skin. "Don't   
think... just feel," she whispered into his ear, before trailing more   
soft kisses down the side of his neck. He closed his eyes as pleasure   
flooded through him, his hands seeking. Then, as she reached the base   
of his neck, she nipped gently at the delicate skin there. In that   
instant, his control snapped.  
  
  
****************  
City Morgue  
  
  
"Mac...are you sure this is the best idea?"  
  
Mac could only roll her eyes in exasperation as she turned to her   
partner. "No, but it happens to be the only way into the morgue I can   
think of," she snapped, adding mentally 'that is, without throttling   
you.'  
  
Harm backed off. "Sorry...I'm just worried. I don't like this,"   
he replied, while admitting to himself that what he didn't like was her   
being a part of it.  
  
"I don't either, Harm. But at least we remembered the name of   
Mercedes's friend. Hopefully he can help us find her. Now come on."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Together, they approached the reception desk and the surly-looking   
individual behind it. Harm hung back as Mac stepped forward and smiled   
at the dour receptionist. "Hello," she said, greeting him brightly   
in Russian. "We're here to see a friend of ours, Georgi Sevastinov."  
  
The man's eyes went wide as he fumbled for the phone. "Just a   
moment, please," he told Mac, dialing a number and then speaking   
rapidly, in a low tone of voice. Despite her attempts, Mac couldn't   
discern what was being said, and glanced back at Harm. The expression   
on his face told her he too was bothered by the receptionist's   
reaction. Something was going on.  
  
The receptionist had barely hung up when Harm and Mac heard   
footsteps behind them. Turning, they saw three men, two of whom were   
uniformed police officers. The third, though dressed casually, also   
appeared to be police. Harm instinctively stepped closer and a little   
bit in front of Mac.  
  
The plainclothes officer in the center addressed them. "You are   
asking for Georgi Sevastinov? Come with me, please," he said   
formally, watching them with hawklike eyes, even as the other two   
officers moved to the sides and 'surrounded' Harm and Mac.  
  
Harm glanced at Mac, silently asking 'Now what?'. She glanced at   
him, then at the police officers standing obviously on guard, their   
hands on their weapons. She returned her gaze to Harm, taking his hand   
at the same time and nodding. He read the message clearly: 'Play along,   
but stay together.' She looked back at the plainclothes officer, who   
motioned for them to follow him, the two uniformed officers falling in   
behind them.  
  
  
They were led to a small, poorly lit, windowless office, where the   
superior gestured for them to sit in the two chairs facing the desk.   
Once they and the officer were seated, the two uniformed officers were   
dismissed, closing the door behind them as they left.  
  
The man behind the desk regarded them speculatively, before fixing   
his gaze on Mac. "While your command of the Russian language is most   
impressive, I suspect your comrade here is not familiar with the mother   
tongue," he told Mac in Russian, before switching to English.   
"Therefore, let us speak so that he may also understand. I am   
Inspector Gennady Karpov, of the Yekaterinburg police. I understand   
you're looking for Georgi Sevastinov." Mac nodded, and the Inspector   
paused before continuing.  
  
"Regrettably, Comrade Sevastinov was murdered in his lab several   
days ago. Shot in the head." The Inspector was watching them both   
closely. "It is my understanding that he was working on some   
unidentified remains with an American scientist, one Mercedes Rabb.   
Comrade Sevastinov was found in the lab, which was largely   
destroyed, and now the remains and Miss Rabb are missing. An   
unacceptable situation."  
  
"So, you see, when two Americans show up at the morgue looking for   
the deceased Comrade Sevastinov, I cannot help be suspicious. I cannot   
help but suspect it is not Georgi Sevastinov you are seeking, but   
Mercedes Rabb," the Inspector finished.  
  
As Harm and Mac glanced at each other, their thoughts ran along   
similar lines: what on earth had Mercedes done? Wisely, they remained   
silent, contemplating their options and how to communicate them with   
the other.  
  
Inspector Karpov watched the silent exchange, studying the pair in   
front of him carefully. This was by far the most unusual case he'd   
ever encountered, and he had no leads beyond the well-dressed Americans   
in front of him. He was not about to let them leave his sight.  
  
"Do you deny that you know this Mercedes Rabb?" Karpov questioned.   
Neither Harm nor Mac said a word. "What are you doing here in Russia?"   
The Inspector continued. "How do you know Georgi Sevastinov? Where   
were you the night of his murder?"  
  
Harm dared a glance at Mac as the rapid-fire inquisition   
continued. This was rapidly getting out of hand, and he definitely   
didn't like the direction the Inspector's questions were taking.   
Dammit, this was why he didn't want Mac here in the first place...  
  
"Nothing?" Karpov finally asked, before pressing a call button on   
his desk. "Very well." The two uniformed officers returned, along   
with two more. Karpov turned back to Harm and Mac.  
  
"Let us see what some time in the local jail will do to loosen   
your tongues. You are both under arrest on suspicion of murder and   
theft of state property," he announced, then turned to one of the   
uniformed officers. "Make sure they are separated and put in the lower   
levels," he ordered.  
  
"NO!" Harm cried, standing, trying to shield Mac. "We stay   
together," he insisted loudly.  
  
That was all the signaled the four uniformed officers needed.   
Three fought to restrain Harm, while a fourth quickly handcuffed Mac.   
Harm saw red as the man brutally yanked her arms back, then began an   
overly thorough search of her body. "Dammit, leave her alone!" he   
bellowed, fighting the grasp of the officers trying to hold him back.  
  
Mac's cry of "Harm, no," was lost as pain exploded behind his   
eyes, then mercifully gave way to darkness.  
  
TBC..... 


	19. Chapter 18

AN: This section is *highly* edited in order to make it PG-13. The   
unedited version is rated R (at least), and has been posted to   
shipperhm list at yahoogroups. Anyone wanting to read it will need to   
send me an email with an age statement.   
  
Thanks, Layla   
  
(msnovtue@hotmail.com)   
  
  
  
*********************************   
Yekaterinburg   
City Jail   
December 6   
2248 local   
  
  
Fuzzy grayness slowly gave way to dim light as Harm gradually   
regained consciousness. A moment of panic was short-lived, however, as   
he opened his eyes to see Mac looking down at him, a concerned   
expression on her face.  
  
"Well, you certainly know how to show a girl a good time, Harm,"   
she commented softly. "You had me worried there, flyboy." She stroked   
his forehead gently, comfortingly.  
  
Bit by bit, Harm's wits returned, leaving him to realize he was   
lying down, his aching head in her lap. He groaned as the pain   
returned. "What happened?"  
  
She smiled slightly. "You tried to play the hero again," she said,   
sighing. "When you fought the guards, one of them hit you with his   
gun." She paused, continuing her gentle caresses. "You okay?"   
  
"I will be, as soon as my head falls off," he replied, closing his   
eyes against the pain. Recalling the scene in the office, he opened his   
eyes and studied her. "Mac... are you okay?"   
  
She nodded. "He didn't do anything, Harm," she said, referring to   
her treatment by the officer. "He just wanted to cop a feel," she added   
with a weak smile. "Lucky for him he put the cuffs on first."   
  
Harm studied her for a moment, his aquamarine eyes taking in every   
detail. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so   
sorry, Mac. Sorry I ever got you involved in this mess," he said   
sorrowfully.   
  
Her hand moved from its soothing caresses to gently cup his cheek.   
"Don't, Harm," she insisted with gentle force. "Don't be sorry. I'm   
not. And it was my decision to come. You didn't force me."   
  
He laughed weakly. "Like I could."   
  
She smiled back. "You got that right, squid."   
  
Silence fell for a few moments before he spoke again. "Where are   
we, anyway?"   
  
She glanced around. "Hmmm, metal bars, cement walls...in jail,   
maybe?" she said facetiously.   
  
"Maaaac..."   
  
"The Yekaterinburg city lockup. Somewhere below ground level, I   
think. I didn't see any windows, and they took us down quite a few   
stairs," she stated, then fell silent.   
  
Harm glanced up at her. It had occurred to him that he probably   
should move and give Mac some space. His head still hurt, though, and   
besides, he was more than content to stay where he was. She didn't seem   
to be objecting, either; instead, she simply continued stroking her   
delicate hands over his forehead and through his short, soft hair,   
although a frown marred her features as she bit her lip, deep in   
thought.   
  
He knew something was on her mind, that there was something she   
wanted to ask. And it was only because he knew her so well, perhaps   
better than he knew himself, that he could see the slightest flicker of   
fear in her eyes. "Mac," he said softly, "what is it?"   
  
She took a deep breath, before quietly but rapidly spilling her   
thoughts. "Harm, what are we going to do? No one knows where we are,"   
  
He took one of her hands in his own, pressing a quick kiss to her   
knuckles. "I don't know, Mac, not yet. But I'll get us out of here... I   
promise," he told her, bringing their joined hands to rest over his   
heart.   
  
  
TBC.... 


	20. Chapter 19

AN: Again, dialogue in is in Russian.  
  
  
***********************************************************************  
Yekaterinburg  
City Jail  
December 7  
0158 local  
  
  
They had only managed a few hours rest when the guards had come,   
waking them from their uneasy, exhaustion-induced sleep. Sleeping in   
the same position as they had earlier sat, both were rudely awakened   
when Harm was yanked roughly from Mac's arms. They were quickly forced   
into handcuffs, Harm receiving a sharp smack to the head when he again   
protested Mac's treatment. But it was when the guards manhandled them   
out of the cell and separated, clearly intending to take them to   
different locations, that the situation really went to hell.  
  
Harm wasn't about to let Mac out of his sight. "Hey! What the--   
NO! Leave her alone, she doesn't know anything!" he insisted loudly,   
desperation coloring his voice. Another heavy-handed blow made his head   
spin, his vision blurring slightly. "Mac!"  
  
"No! Leave him alone, he's hurt, can't you see that!" she yelled   
at the guards. Her own outburst earned her a slap across the face,   
further enraging Harm.  
  
"You bastards, leave her alone!" he bellowed.  
  
She ignored the trickle of blood coming from her split lip.   
"Harm, stop!" she cried desperately, even as the guards drug them   
further apart. "They're just going to keep hurting you, please...   
HARM!!" Her final cry echoed in the hall, even as she was shoved   
through a doorway out of sight.  
  
"Mac!" he cried, terrified. "SARAH!!"  
  
  
**************************  
O520 local  
  
  
She had to give the interrogators credit; they had tried just   
about everything short of outright torture to get her to reveal   
information about the murder, Mercedes Rabb, and the missing remains.   
But she said nothing, insisted she knew nothing, which wasn't entirely   
untrue. But the duration and intensity of the questioning had set off   
alarm bells; there was a lot more to this than a simple police   
investigation, she was sure of it. And right now, she didn't give an   
airborne fornication about any of it.  
  
Her internal clock told her she had been returned to her cell 18   
minutes and 37 seconds ago... and there had been no sign of Harm since   
their earlier parting. She was terrified, trying not to consider the   
distinct possibility that may have been the last time she ever saw him,   
that his last words to her had been the desperate scream of her given   
name. Oh God.... She closed her eyes, trying to escape from her own   
thoughts. Unwittingly, she drifted into a light, restless slumber.  
  
She snapped awake awhile later at the sound of keys in the cell's   
lock. A guard cocked his weapon and pointed at her, ordering her to   
face the far wall, her hands behind her head. Catching a glimpse of   
more guards approaching, she gave up any plan to resist and did as she   
was ordered.  
  
Deprived of seeing the goings-on, she relied on her hearing to   
tell her what was happening. The door was opened, and more than one   
guard entered. But no one approached her; instead, there was a   
scuffling sound, then the *thud* of something solid being dropped. The   
guards retreated, shutting and locking the cell behind her. She took   
the click of a weapon being secured and the sound of the guards'   
departure as a signal she could move from her position.  
  
Lowering her arms, she turned around slowly. A soft cry escaped   
her lips as she took in the scene. Harm lay in a heap on the floor,   
moaning softly. She rushed to him, kneeling next to his battered form.  
"Harm? Harm, it's Mac," she said softly, urgently. "Come on, Harm,   
answer me," she pleaded when she got no response. She couldn't stop her   
hands from shaking slightly when she reached out to try and gently roll   
him on to his back.  
  
Another soft moan of pain accompanied the movement. There was a   
tightening in her chest as she got a good look at him. As bad as her   
own session with their captors had been, it never went much beyond a   
stinging slap of a hand, not much by Marine standards.  
  
Harm hadn't been so lucky. His face was battered and bloody; one   
eye was nearly swollen shut, and his arms were wrapped protectively   
around his torso, cradling likely injured ribs. She was sure there   
were more injuries that she couldn't see.  
  
She tried again to pull him from his semi-conscious state. "Harm,   
please... it's Mac--Sarah," she added remembering his parting cry. "I   
really need you to wake up and talk to me, flyboy. Please..."  
  
Her voice finally reached him through the haze of pain surrounding   
him. "Mac...? He asked weakly, his eyes flickering open. "Are   
you...?"  
  
"I'm fine," she lied, even as relief and an odd happiness flooded   
through her. Even now, his concern for her was foremost. "You, on the   
other hand," she said, trying for a touch of lightness, "look like   
hell."  
  
"You… shoulda seen... the other guy," he replied, adding a weak   
laugh, then wincing at the pain it caused.  
  
She shook her head in amazement. "You're something else, squid.   
I'm just not sure what." She paused, assessing the distance between   
where he lay and the metal slab chained to the wall that passed for a   
bed. It wasn't much, but it was up off the cold and damp floor. "We   
need to get you off this floor. Do you think you're up to moving about   
eight feet?"  
  
He groaned. "No, but I'll do it anyway."  
  
A good fifteen minutes later, Mac was exhausted and Harm hurt even   
more than before, but he was on the 'bed'. Breathing hard from the   
exertion, she asked him, "Comfortable?"  
  
"Not hardly...This place... makes the bunks... on the Watertown...   
look appealing," he replied, panting for breath, fighting down the   
pain.  
  
"Yeah, well at least there won't be any bored sailors waking me up   
in the middle of the night just to get a peek at my underwear," she   
said resignedly, leaning back against the wall.  
  
"Don't... count on that," he said, missing the wry look she gave   
him. "Mac.... what do you think... happened to Mercedes?"  
  
"I don't know, Harm," she answered wearily. Her adrenaline from   
the guards' visit and his return was quickly fading, and fatigue was   
taking its toll. Slowly, she sat down on the floor by the bed. "I'm   
so tired I can barely see straight."  
  
"You won't... get any rest... down there." Gingerly, he moved   
over as much as he could, making room. "Come here."  
  
"Harm, no," she protested, leaning toward him, "if I try to   
squeeze on there, I'll probably just hurt you more."  
  
He closed his eyes, hating his own weakness. The truth was, he   
wanted her beside him, just as reassurance all was well. The entire   
time they'd questioned him, beat him, all he could think about was   
her. They'd take her away from him again only over his dead body. But   
he just couldn't tell her that, admit that he needed her like that.   
Instead, he simply pleaded with her in a quiet, broken voice.   
"Please... Sarah."  
  
She looked up, studying him for a moment. Then slowly, carefully,   
lay down next to him, sidling as close as she could without hurting his   
damaged ribs. Her chin on his shoulder, her hand sought out his, their   
fingers intertwining. "We'll make it, Harm. We'll get out of here and   
find your Dad and Mercedes, and take them home. I swear it," she   
whispered. Before long they were both deep asleep.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	21. Chapter 20

*********************************************  
December 7  
The Cabin outside Yekaterinburg  
0920 local  
  
Waking up with Mercedes Rabb was quite a pleasant experience,   
Webb thought as he prepared himself a cup of dark, sweet tea. This   
morning, he had awakened to the extremely pleasant sensation of her   
legs intertwined with his, and the soft curves of her naked body   
pressing into him. Her pale golden hair, smelling faintly of jasmine,   
lay in a silken mass across his chest, and her face was pressed into   
the crook of his neck, her warm breath causing slightly alarming but   
extremely enjoyable sensations to shiver down his spine. Extricating   
himself from her warm embrace had been a unique form of torture, he   
thought, glancing over to her still-slumbering form.  
  
Clay sighed. Dammit, he couldn't afford to get involved with   
anyone, and especially not someone as potentially dangerous as Mercedes   
Rabb. Christ, she was Harm's cousin! Simply being around her was   
trouble...but....  
  
Quietly, he moved from the kitchen area to the bedroom, and   
studied her still-sleeping form. In the harsh brightness of daylight,   
he could see the scars from her crash that he had only previously known   
by touch. Thick, slightly raised, reddened and fibrous but flat, the   
scars were the worst on her shoulder blades and upper back, decreasing   
in severity as they moved downward. He couldn't help the slight   
churning in his stomach as her looked at them; not because of   
revulsion, but at the thought of the sheer pain she had been through.   
He figured she had been through scar therapy; it seemed unlikely that   
she hadn't. And the scars were still raised several millimeters from   
the surface of her skin, and an angry-looking, flushed pink.  
  
But that wasn't what really held Clay's interest. He'd found her   
third tattoo.  
  
It started at her shoulder joints and flowed along her spine down   
to her waist, using the natural landscape of the scars to give texture   
and depth to the image. A wild, magical bird, wings outstretched, was   
rendered in every possible combination of reds, yellows, oranges, and   
blues. The work was extremely fine and detailed; the wings and long,   
flowing tail of the creature seemed to almost flicker and dance as   
though aflame. The meaning of the image hit him as he realized   
precisely what the creature was.  
  
Across the back of a woman who'd survived a literal trial by   
fire, and then reinvented herself, was the image of a phoenix arisen.  
  
  
***********************************************************  
Yekaterinburg City Jail  
Same day  
1136 local  
  
  
Mac awoke slowly, painfully stiff from the cold of the cell and   
the unforgiving metal slab. Deciding that moving greatly really wasn't   
necessary at the moment, she satisfied her inherent curiosity by simply   
opening her eyes.  
  
And found herself looking straight into her partner's slightly   
worse-for-wear teal ones. "Hey," she said softly, by way of greeting.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
He groaned. "Like a punching bag after Mike Tyson's workout.   
Other than that, I'm terrific."  
  
She scanned his battered face. "You don't look so terrific,"   
she replied, a note of worry in her voice.  
  
"Thanks, Mac. I needed that," he answered, closing his eyes.  
  
"I'm serious, Harm. You're sure you're all right?"  
  
"As good as I can be, considering," he told her, before reopening   
his eyes to look at her. Worry and concern were etched on her face,   
and he softened. "Really, Mac. It hurts, but I've had worse."  
  
She smiled humorlessly. "I know, Harm. I've been there for quite   
a few of them. That doesn't mean I'm not worried now."  
  
"Mac, I'll be fine," he said gently, before reaching to caress   
her cheek with his knuckles. "You take good care of me."  
  
The sentiment, said with such tenderness, caught her off guard.   
At a loss for words, she simply returned the gesture, brushing her   
fingertips across his roughened cheek lightly, wary of causing him   
pain.  
  
He caught her wrist gently and pressed her hand to his face,   
closing his eyes briefly and drinking in the comfort of her touch. He   
gazed at her, an unexpected intensity in his eyes. "I don't know how I   
ever thought I could get through this without you," he whispered,   
simply staring at her as though he was truly seeing her for the first   
time.  
  
They remained silent, just watching each other. Slowly, the   
expression faded from his face, and he looked away. "Mac.... what do   
you think happened?"  
  
"At the lab?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I don't know, Harm. All we know at this point was what   
Inspector Karpov told us. Assuming that's essentially true..."  
  
"We have Mercedes's friend, the lab tech, apparently murdered,   
the lab destroyed, and Mercedes and the remains......" His voice   
trailed off as the implication hit him. "Oh, God, Mac. He's missing   
again. He's gone."  
  
"And we'll find him again, Harm. Him and Mercedes," she said   
forcefully, letting her voice reach out to him, cutting through the   
grief that was quickly enveloping him. She thought for a moment,   
focusing her mind on the few facts they knew, and applying the same   
logic that served her so well at JAG. "Something must have happened,   
Harm... Maybe someone came after your Dad's remains, and they killed   
Georgi Sevastinov to get to them."  
  
"What about Mercedes?"  
  
Mac contemplated the possibilities. "Mercedes went missing around   
the same time frame as the remains and Sevatinov's murder. For the   
way Karpov talked, I don't think the lab being trashed was connected to   
the murder."  
  
"I agree; it didn't sound like he thought the two were directly   
connected... more like they happened independently," Harm's mind was   
now focused on piecing together the mystery of that night.  
  
They both fell silent, their minds turning over various   
possibilities. It was several minutes before Mac spoke again, breaking   
the silence.  
  
"Harm... Mercedes would have arrived at the lab that night,   
assuming she went straight from Washington to here. What if   
Sevastinov was already dead when she arrived..."  
  
"But the killer was still there," he finished for her, eyes   
wide. "And if Sevastinov was killed because he was in the way--   
because he knew about the remains, and would question their   
disappearance--"  
  
"Then the killer may have still been there, retrieving the   
remains when Mercedes walked in," Mac concluded. "Harm, there was no   
way she would have simply let anyone walk off with your Dad. The lab   
must have been trashed when they fought over the remains."  
  
Harm interrupted her. "So there was fight in the lab, and   
somehow, at the end of it, Mercedes and Dad's remains disappeared," he   
stated quietly. "Mac.... they could've taken her and Dad. They   
could've even killed her," he said, his voice barely a whisper as he   
finished.  
  
Mac shook her head. "Or, she could have fought them off,   
temporarily disabling her attacker. She wouldn't have left without the   
remains, Harm. I know it-- just from talking to her that day."  
  
"We don't know that, Mac," he said despondently.  
  
"We don't know that she's dead either. Besides, they left behind   
Georgi's body. Why not leave hers behind, too? She was legally in the   
country, working with the permission of the government. There's no   
reason to leave one body behind and not the other." She fixed Harm with   
a determined stare. "Mercedes is alive, Harm. And I'd bet my 'Vette   
she's got your Dad with her."  
  
Harm just looked at Mac for a moment. "I hope you're right, Mac."  
  
  
***********************************************************************  
The cabin  
Same time  
  
  
Clay returned to the kitchen to refill his mug, his mind awhirl   
with thoughts of Mercedes. He poured himself another mug of the   
steaming tea, absently stirring in several lumps of sugar. He leaned   
back against the counter, contemplating all he had learned.  
  
Lost in thought, it took him a minute to realize her was staring   
at a radio on the counter. Somehow, it had escaped his notice before.   
Idly, he put the tea glass down and inspected the small, portable   
radio. Sure enough, it had batteries. A few minutes later, he had it   
on at a low volume and tuned to a local news station.  
  
He picked up his tea, only half-listening to the broadcast when one   
report caught his attention.  
  
"Local authorities have a new lead in the death of morgue technician   
Georgi Sevastinov. They confirmed that a pair of Americans, a middle   
age male and a female, are being detained in connection with the   
investigation..."  
Oh no. It couldn't be... But it had to. It was too much of a   
coincidence.  
  
A slow, dull throbbing began in Clay's forehead as he realized that   
apparently, Harm and Mac were a lot closer than he'd thought.  
  
  
TBC.... 


	22. Chapter 21

Yekaterinburg  
Cafe Matrushka  
December 7  
1828 local  
  
  
"They're WHAT?!?!?!"  
  
Clay sighed, mentally thanking himself for remembering to pick a busy, bustling, and noisy   
location to tell Mercedes the news about Harm and Mac. Glancing around, he saw that no one   
have given them more than a passing glance, even with her outburst.  
  
"Keep it down," he ordered. "There are still people looking for us, you know."  
  
"Well, excuse me," she retorted, her voice laden with sarcasm. "Not everyone can be as   
blasé as you."  
  
"Mercedes...." he groaned.  
  
"Fine," she said shortly, waving her hand dismissively. "At least now I know why you were in   
such a hurry to get back to the city." She paused to take a sip from her steaming glass of tea.   
"Look," she continued, softening a bit, " I know it's your nature to keep secrets. But please try to   
remember I'm involved in this, too."  
  
"Fair enough," he conceded.  
  
"Right. So what are we going to do?" she asked in a businesslike tone.  
  
"We?"  
  
"Yes, we. If you think for one minute that you're leaving me out of this..." she began.  
  
"That is precisely what I'm thinking. It's too dangerous, and you're not trained for this sort of   
thing."  
  
"Like hell. I'm not helpless, you know. Besides, you may need me; Who better to drive the   
getaway car than an ex-racer?" she offered.  
  
Clay sighed. This was not helping his headache. "You're good behind the wheel, I'll give you   
that," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose and missing the dirty look she shot him.  
  
"Good? I'll have you know--"  
  
"Mercedes, you're not going and that's it. Dammit, I don't want you getting hurt, and I   
particularly don't want the Yekaterinburg police getting their hands on you," he snapped. "I   
made a few calls earlier, and there's a lot more going on here than you know."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "Like what?"  
  
Shit. He had been hanging around Rabb--Harm-- too long. His mouth was getting ahead of   
his brain. "Like it's not your concern."  
  
"Verfluchtes Mann! Du bist ein echtes--" Mercedes stopped, catching herself. Taking a deep   
breath, she mentally reminded herself that cursing at Webb in any language would likely get her   
nowhere. "Sorry. Old habits die hard." She sighed, pulling off the black fedora she'd acquired to   
hide her hair, raked a hand through it, then crammed it back on her head. "I need a break. I'm   
going to go powder my nose, and calm down. But this discussion is *not* finished." With that,   
she picked up her bag and retreated to the ladies' room.  
  
Which gave Webb the perfect opportunity to put his plan in motion. Using an old magician's   
trick, a small vial of clear liquid appeared in his hand. A few drops in Mercedes' tea, and it   
disappeared again, even as Clay nodded to the waiter observing the busy cafe. He'd chosen this   
place for a reason; more than once, it had served as an Agency safehouse, and several of the   
employees and the owners were on the Agency's payroll. A perfect place to hide Mercedes for   
several hours.  
  
A few moments later, the lady in question returned, taking her seat across from Webb. He   
relaxed a bit as she took a large gulp of her tea before speaking. It shouldn't be too long now.  
  
"Clay," she began, "tell me what I need to do to convince you to let me come with you on   
this."  
  
"Mercedes, I don't want you hurt," he replied softly.  
  
She smiled softly. "I appreciate the concern, but this is Harm and Mac. Hell, it's my fault   
they're here in the first place," she stated, blinking a bit.  
  
Clay could tell the drug was beginning to take effect. He watched her try to fight the   
sedative for several minutes, attempting to shake off its effects, before speaking again.   
"Mercedes," he said quietly, "I know you want to do this. And it is not your fault; it's Harm's for   
being such an impulsive pain in the ass," he said, even as she wobbled slightly in her chair,   
unsteady and off-balance.  
  
"Clay...what... what's happening...?" she asked, confused.  
  
His voice was low, even as he moved to support her. "Harm and Mac are being moved   
tomorrow morning. That's my best chance to get them out of there."  
  
"But..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mercedes, but I can't let you come along."  
  
Her eyes widened momentarily, even as realization penetrated her fogged mind. "You son of   
a bitch. You slipped me a mickey. You son of a...."  
  
Clay caught her as she collapsed, sliding from the chair. The waiter was there immediately,   
solicitously offering a back room for the lady to recover.  
  
Slinging her bag over one shoulder, Clay gathered her up and carried back to the waiting   
bedroom in the back of the cafe. He laid her down gently, setting the bag on the floor beside the   
bed before turning to the waiter. "Okay, she should be out for quite a while. I'll be back for her   
tomorrow night. But keep an eye on her, Anatoly."  
  
The waiter nodded. "Good luck."  
  
Clay nodded in acknowledgement, even as he headed out the back door. "I'm gonna need it,"   
he muttered.  
  
  
*********************************************************************  
December 8  
0436 local  
  
  
"Ugh... Was ist?" Mercedes groaned, waking slowly. Recollection came crashing back, and   
she sat up slowly, looking around. Webb was gone. He'd ditched her. "Arschloch," she   
muttered. The damn fool was going to try to rescue them alone  
  
She looked at her watch, the heavy steel chronograph confirming the early hour. Well, hell.   
She might be able to get there in time after all.  
  
Gathering up her things, she silently crept by the sleeping Anatoly, and out into the night.  
  
  
************************************************************************  
Yekaterinburg City Jail  
0548 local  
  
  
Once again, Harm and Mac were awakened roughly by the guards and cuffed. This time,   
however, they were kept together, and hustled up several sets of stairs.  
  
No one spoke a word, but more than once Harm had glanced at Mac, wondering about their   
destination and concerned for her. For her part, Mac's eyes never entirely left her partner's form.  
  
Outside the prison, they were manhandled into a van, and the door shut behind them. Again,   
the partners glanced up at each other, before Mac called to the driver. "Where are we   
going?"  
  
"Not where they think we are," a familiar sarcastic voice replied in English.  
  
"Webb?!?!" Harm was the first to react.  
  
"Clay, what the hell are you doing?" Mac asked.  
  
"Breaking you two out. Now hang on," he ordered, even as he saw a guard approaching the   
van, presumably to ride escort. He waited until the last possible minute, right as the guard   
reached for the door handle...  
  
And stomped on the gas. With a cloud of smoke and squeal of rubber, the van accelerated   
away, weaving around the escort vehicles and barreling into the town square.  
  
"Webb!! What the hell!?" Harm bellowed, even as a sharp swerve set him stumbling into Mac.  
  
"Hey, you wanna drive? We've got company on our tail, and they're persistent as hell," Webb   
shot back, fishtailing around a corner.  
  
Mac peered out one of the small, grate-covered rear windows. "He's not kidding, Harm," she   
yelled. "Looks like we've got most of the Yekaterinburg police force after us."  
  
Harm glanced behind them before shouting to Webb. "Can't you make this thing go any   
faster?"  
  
"It's floored. This is a van, Rabb, not a Lamborghini."  
  
Mac, still watching out the back, only half heard the conversation. Then, all of a sudden,   
mayhem erupted behind them, and her eyes went wide. "Uh, guys? This may not be a   
Lamborghini, but I'm pretty sure that is."  
  
"What the..?"  
  
Both Clay and Harm glanced behind them, just in time to see a gleaming gold Lamborghini   
Murcielago dive in, skidding across the road in a full-out power slide, and causing three of the   
police cars to swerve. One found a lamppost, and the remaining two impacted other cars.  
  
Help had just arrived.  
  
  
  
TBC.... 


	23. Chapter 22

*********  
Just a reference note: wonder what a Murcielago looks like? Check one out here :  
http://www.autoweek.com/specials/galleries/murcielago/1.htm  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
  
Having dispatched three of the pursuers, the driver of the Lamborghini accelerated and pulled   
even with the van, coming up on driver's left. Both Harm, who had taken the passenger seat,   
and Webb turned to look at the driver... confirming Clay's suspicions.  
  
"MERCEDES?!?!?"  
  
Harm's shriek brought Mac to the front to glance over at the sportscar. Sure enough, Harm's   
cousin sat behind the wheel, handing the high-powered vehicle with ease. As they watched she   
mouthed the words, "All you okay?"  
  
Harm nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. She returned the nod, sparing a lethal glare for Webb,   
before glancing behind them. "I got 'em," she mouthed, "just keep going."  
  
"What the hell is she talking about?" Webb asked.  
  
"I have feeling we're going to find out," Mac said. Even as the words left her lips, Mercedes   
rapidly downshifted, dropping speed and momentum until she was well behind the van, but   
between it and the police cars in pursuit.  
  
Clay decelerated as they approached a T in the road. Back in the Lamborghini, Mercedes saw   
an opportunity. Pulling even with the two lead cars, she waited until the last possible millisecond   
to brake, then turned sharply and accelerated hard. The outbraking maneuver left the outside   
car nowhere to go except straight into a wall.  
  
"Four down, a whole shitload to go," Mercedes muttered, even as the remaining car on her   
right began to fire at her. However, the shooter hadn't counted on the difference in the two   
cars, and the bullets simply scraped the top of the ultra-low slung Murcielago.  
  
"That's not nice," CD commented, gunning the car and pulling in front of the police car with   
less than a foot to spare. She accelerated hard, pulling the following car with her. Another   
corner loomed, and as the van braked and darted around it, Mercedes stomped on the brakes,   
hard, for a few hundredths of a second, before accelerating with every bit of the 580 horsepower   
the V-12 engine could produce, turning as she did so.  
  
The maneuver worked perfectly. The police car's braking capabilities were nowhere near   
those of the exotic sportscar, and it failed to make the turn. Better yet, the three other cars that   
had been following closely behind slammed into the unfortunate car in a chain reaction. Scratch   
four more pursuers. Only a few left to go.  
  
Back in the van, Harm was watching his cousin's display with amazement. He knew she   
could drive, but damn! She was pulling maneuvers like she was in a dogfight. Even Clay had   
noticed how relatively easily CD was handling their pursuers...and beginning to feel a bit foolish   
for not accepting her help.  
  
Inside the Murcielago, Mercedes was having a blast. She'd never thought too highly of Italian   
sportscars, but Lamborghini had really outdone themselves this time. Powerful and responsive,   
the car enticed her to let go with a side of herself that hadn't been seen since the crash. At 5'   
10", her lithe frame fit in the seat like they'd been made for each other. She could feel the   
tingling thrum of the engine vibrating through her body, coming from the pedals, the wheel, the   
gearshift, everything. She felt more alive than she had in years.  
  
She glanced in the rearview mirror, spotting the five remaining cars in pursuit. A slow, wicked   
smile spread across her lips as she recalled some dialogue from a movie, repeating it out loud. "I   
can't shoot this sonofabitch; let's see if we can have a little fun with 'em."  
  
  
TBC.... 


	24. Chapter 23

Five cars. That was all that stood between they and a clean escape.   
Mercedes took a few second to weigh her options, even as the pursuit moved on to   
a wide, four-lane road. Trying to recall some of her more aggressive   
competitors' tactics, Mercedes grinned, recalling one fellow in particular.   
"Time to make the doughnuts!" she announced. Her proclamation was accompanied by   
hard braking, a sharp turn, and a couple of quick shifts.  
  
The trio in the van watched in horror as the Lamborghini spun wildly,   
causing the two closest pursuers to dive off the road in an effort to avoid the   
car. Both ended up in roadside ditches; one right side up, the other upside   
down. Then, amazingly, the sportscar recovered without the least problem. "She   
was in control the whole time," Mac breathed in amazement.  
  
Harm couldn't stop grinning. "That's my cousin for ya."  
  
The remaining three cars were tired of playing games, however. Windows   
were lowered, and all tried to take out the tires of the Murcielago.  
  
"Shit!" Mercedes cursed, swerving the car wildly to dodge the gunfire.   
Risky driving was one thing; being shot at was quite another. Time to quit   
screwing around.  
  
Carefully, she backed off just enough to let two of the three cars pull   
even with her. She was going to have to take a chance with this one. She   
watched the two carefully, even as both scrambled to line up a shot at her.  
  
Just as both cars finally got ready to shoot, she stomped on the brakes.   
The shots went wild; rather than hitting Mercedes or the car, they sliced   
through the flimsy bodies of the Russian cars and into their passengers. As   
both swerved off wildly, the final car collided with the now-stationary   
Lamborghini. Mercedes was braced for the impact, releasing the wheel to prevent   
it snapping her hands and wrists.  
  
The police car slammed into the Murcielago, crumpling into a mass of   
crushed metal. Bits of plastic and fiberglass went flying as the rear of the   
Lamborghini crumpled, but only slightly. Mercedes's gamble had paid off, and   
the superior body of the Italian sportscar withstood the impact enough to leave   
the car drivable.  
  
Mercedes glanced in the rearview mirror, making sure the last car was going   
nowhere. Then, with a natural ease, shifted the Murcielago back into gear, the   
engine still purring like a contented tiger as she caught up with the van.  
  
  
************************************************************************  
Unknown location-Abandoned farm  
Southwest of Yekaterinburg  
Two hours later  
  
  
Clay slowly pulled the van to a stop, then watched Mercedes do the same with   
the damaged Lamborghini. Mac gave the still injured Harm an assist out of the   
van, although they both had a bit of difficulty, since they were both still   
cuffed.  
  
Webb mentally cursed for not remembering to take care of that earlier. "Come   
here, you two, and hold still," he ordered tersely, again removing a couple of   
needle files that made short work of the cuffs.  
  
All three turned around to see the driver's door of the Lamborghini angle   
itself upward, as Mercedes undid the belt and gracefully stepped out of the car.   
Harm and Mac watched as her eyes fixed on Webb like a heat-seeking missile on to   
a jet exhaust.  
  
Webb knew he was in for it, but tried to placate her anyway as she strode   
towards him. "Mercedes, please, just listen--"  
  
Not a bit of motion was wasted as in one smooth motion, CD approached Webb   
and sent him reeling with a sucker punch worthy of James T. Kirk. He stumbled   
backward, landing flat on his ass in the dirt. "You.... you.... Dummkopf!   
Trottel!! Vollidiot!!" She raged, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that she was   
beyond livid. "You drugged me up and DITCHED me!! Arschloch!! You never had   
any intention of listening to me! I *told* you you would need my driving kills,   
but did you listen? Of course not! That would mean you had some sense! Lieber   
Gott, I can't believe I actually trusted you!" She accused, pointing at him.   
"And worse yet, I *slept* with you!! Lieber Gott! " she swore, before stomping   
off.  
  
Webb slowly struggled to his feet, still trying to comprehend what had   
happened. "Sorry about that," he got out as he turned to Harm and Mac...  
  
And promptly found himself knocked soundly on his ass again, courtesy of   
Mercedes's cousin.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	25. Chapter 24

"Webb, you've got ten seconds to explain," Harm said threateningly, standing over the dazed agent.  
  
Mac observed the scene for about five seconds before determining that things were quickly on their way to a full-out, grade-A disaster. Carefully, she stepped up next to Harm and put a gentle restraining hand on his arm. "Cool your jets, there, flyboy," she told him.  
  
"But, Mac.. He... Mercedes... they..."  
  
She stepped in a bit closer before speaking again, this time in a low but forceful tone. "Harm, Mercedes is a mature adult in her thirties. Like it or not, she makes her own decisions."  
  
"But, Mac..."  
  
"Furthermore, might I remind you that we have slightly more pressing things to deal with than your cousin's love life right now? Look," she said, stalling another protest from Harm, "If you really want to beat the stuffing out of Webb, wait until we're out of Russia. Heck, you could probably get the Admiral to help you."  
  
He sighed, visibly deflating. "You're right--"  
  
"As usual."  
  
He shot her a look before continuing. "For now," he finished. "But no promises about later."  
  
It was her turn to sigh. "We'll jump off that bridge when we come to it," she commented dryly. "For now, can I leave you boys alone while I go track down Mercedes?"  
  
"'Boys', Mac?" Harm asked wryly. His only response was a raised eyebrow and a pointed look. "Yes, you can."  
  
"And you promise not to hurt Webb?"  
  
"Yes ma'am."  
  
"Good. Stay here; I'll be back." With that, she disappeared in the direction Mercedes had gone.  
  
Harm went back to the van and sat in the front, door open, as Webb struggled to his feet for a second time, rubbing his jaw. As he made his way over to sit on the bumper of the van, Webb glanced at Harm before muttering, "Well, at least nothing's broken this time."  
  
  
****  
  
  
Mac found Mercedes a short distance away, sitting slumped against a tree, her bag next to her. Dropping down to sit next to her, Mac chose her words carefully, trying for the light, joking approach that worked so well with Harm. "Well...at least it sounds like you've had a better time in Russia than I have," she said wryly.  
  
Mercedes snorted derisively. "I don't imagine that would take much."  
  
"True," Mac agreed, then paused before speaking again. "That was a rather impressive performance back there."  
  
"Which one, the driving or the conniption fit?" Mercedes asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Both, actually," Mac admitted, laughing. "Although you missed the encore for the latter."  
  
Mercedes groaned. "Oh no. What did my idiot cousin do, or do I not want to know?" she said.  
  
"Waited till Webb got to his feet and them punched him."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"He didn't hurt him..." Mercedes asked uncertainly.  
  
"No... at least it didn't seem like it..." Mac bit her lip then continued. "But Webb did end up on his six in the dirt again."  
  
Mercedes stared at Mac, wide-eyed, for a moment before breaking up laughing. "Oh, man," she got out, "I would've paid good money to see that."  
  
"It was pretty funny," Mac admitted with a snicker.  
  
Mercedes sighed dramatically. "Men. Can't live with 'em, damn difficult to get away with shooting 'em," she commented, which only made them both laugh harder.  
  
After they managed to calm down a bit, both fell silent for a while before Mac spoke up again. "If you want to talk about it..." she offered tentatively.  
  
"Sleeping with Webb? Not right now," Mercedes answered, "But maybe later. Everything else that's going on? Maybe. But we probably ought to get back and make sure they guys haven't throttled each other."  
  
Mac slowly got to her feet, stretching. "True, although I made Harm promise not to hurt him."  
  
"Aw, they're fine, then. Harm's never broken a promise in his life, and never will," Mercedes commented as she got to her feet. "He'd rather have all his teeth pulled without anesthetic first."  
  
"I've noticed," Mac replied, watching as the other woman scooped up the heavy knapsack and swung it over her shoulder.  
  
"Yeah, well, you would too if--" Mercedes caught herself. "Actually, he probably wouldn't want me telling you that," she finished, an indecisive look on her face.  
  
"What?" Mac pressed.  
  
"Why he'll never make a promise he won't or can't keep," CD answered. "I guess you could say it's a bit of a family secret," she admitted.  
  
Mac regarded CD for a moment before speaking. "It has to do with his Dad, doesn't it?" she asked quietly.  
  
CD didn't answer immediately, although her eyebrows rose in mild surprise. Slowly, she sat down again, gesturing for Mac to do the same. "If we're going to continue this conversation, you might want to sit down again. This may take a bit."  
  
Mac nodded, then sat. "So?"  
  
Mercedes took a deep breath, then looked up at Mac. "Some of this I know for a fact, and some of it is speculation. Regardless, this is never to be repeated," she said sternly, getting a nod of agreement from Mac before she continued. "I asked Harm about it, when we were kids. Just out of curiosity, you know. All he said was, "Christmas." Later, I asked Aunt Trish what he meant. I found out that Uncle Harm had promised to call on that Christmas day." She paused. "I think you can figure out the rest."  
  
Mac was silent for a few moments. "I wondered if it was something like that," she admitted.  
  
"Yeah. I'm sure my Uncle didn't think about it... was sure that he'd make that call." Mercedes smiled weakly. "I'm sure I don't have to explain the whole aviator arrogance thing to you. But all a six year old kid would know is that Dad broke his promise." She sighed deeply. "Gott in Himmel, what mess our family is."  
  
Mac looked up in surprise. "What? You and Harm turned out great," she said, confused.  
  
Another mirthless grin. "Yeah, and our fathers were both so addicted to their jobs that it killed them both, then passed those addictions on to their children, who both nearly did the same." She saw Mac's shocked expression, and explained. "Sorry. I assumed you knew. My dad was a racer, too." She looked away before adding in a flat tone, "He was killed in a testing crash at Imola when I was twelve."  
  
"Mercedes..." Mac began.  
  
CD cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. "It was a long time ago, Mac. Forget about it. Besides, we need to get back." And with that, Mercedes stood, swinging the bag over her shoulder and started back through the woods, leaving Mac to scramble to her feet and catch up.  
  
  
  
***************  
  
  
The two women returned to the amusing sight of Webb rubbing his jaw and muttering. Harm, meanwhile, simply sat in the front, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Webb. After taking in the scene, CD turned to look at Mac. "Men," she mouthed, rolling her eyes, before turning back to the two. "So," she announced, "any particular reason we've stopped in this scenic locale, Webb?"  
  
The agent looked up. "Yeah. We're camping here for the night while I try to figure out how to get us out of this mess." He glanced back at the cars. "We need to find some slightly less conspicuous transportation, and unless someone else has already used it, there might be some. Come on, the farm house is this way."  
  
  
************  
  
  
A short while later, the foursome was sitting in front of the fireplace in the old house. Decrepit-looking from the outside, inside it was in good condition and adequately stocked with supplies. Webb had made a brief trip to the nearby barn to find a nearly antique, battered-looking Russian car. While not exactly the best, it would serve as good, inconspicuous transportation to the next town.  
  
In the meantime, they had, through some miracle, agreed to try and hide on the public railway system and make their way to the Black Sea, where Webb had contacts that could then get them out of the country. For the moment, though, they were all relaxing as best they could in front of the fireplace.  
  
Still, the silence in the room was palpable. Harm appeared to be gazing into the fire, but she'd caught him more than once glancing at the others in the room, alternating between Webb and Mercedes. Harm watched his cousin with an undetermined mix of emotions. On the other hand, he regarded Webb with blatant hostility; thankfully, the agent simply ignored it. Besides, he was much more interested in sneaking worried periodic glances at Mercedes. As for Mercedes, she simply gazed into the fire, glassy-eyed and seemingly lost in a world of her own.  
  
Mac decided that was not good; besides the tension and silence was beginning to get to her. Deciding to try and engage the other woman in conversation, she asked, "Mercedes?"  
  
"Yeah?" she responded, not looking away from the flames.  
  
"Ummmm...Where on earth did you get that car?"  
  
Harm finally spoke up. "I was kinda wondering about that myself," he admitted with a slight grin.  
  
Mercedes finally turned to look at them, and grinned. "Same place Webb and I got the Benz we were driving earlier," she said. "Stole it from a mafiya nightclub parking lot."  
  
"How the hell did you pull that off?" Webb asked, a slight note of awe in his voice. It was clear he was having trouble believing she'd actually succeeded with such a feat.  
  
"Please," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not like it was difficult." An evil glint crept into her eyes as she noticed both Harm and Mac were watching intently. Maybe it was time for a bit of the payback Webb so richly deserved.  
  
"Weeeeellll...." She began, dragging out the word, "I sorta took out one of the guards and then snuck in and hotwired the thing."  
  
That had gotten Webb's attention. "*You* took out one of the guards," he said in flat disbelief.  
  
"Yes, that's what I said," CD answered, frustration creeping into her voice.  
  
"And just how did you do that?"  
  
"Would you like me to show you?" Mercedes shot back in a too-sweet voice. Meanwhile, Harm and Mac glanced at each other uncertainly. This was either going to get very interesting or very ugly---quite possibly both.  
  
"Please," Clay answered sarcastically, getting to his feet and crossing his arms.  
  
Mercedes did the same. "As you wish," she commented snidely. "Basically, I used the oldest trick in the book, and a bit of my extensive anatomical knowledge." With a jerk, she pulled off the black fedora and tossed it to Mac, then pulled her hair loose from its knot. A quick shake, and it fell loose, fanning about her face. Next, she tossed off her coat, then unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt.  
  
Harm looked at Mac, his eyes wide in alarm. Obviously, this was a side of his cousin that had him more than a little worried. For her part, Mac returned his worried glance, one thought in her mind: Uh-oh. Webb was either going to need painkillers or a cold shower in very short order.  
  
But it was far too late for anyone to back out... especially him, Webb realized. As they did earlier, Mercedes's eyes locked on to Clay, but the message buried in their depths was much different. Rather than stating she wanted to throttle him, her sapphire gaze promised a different and much more enjoyable physical activity. She sauntered over to him, and Clay began mentally repeating a message to himself: *Do not touch her or Harm will kill you. *  
  
She sidled up to him, leaning on a shoulder, and Clay couldn't help the quick downward glance... and the glimpse of sheer black lace that was instantly burned into his memory. Oh *crap*....  
  
Mercedes turned to glance at Harm and Mac, and couldn't resist a wink. Mac had to nearly bite her tongue to keep from laughing, but a small snicker managed to escape. Harm turned to her, toning down his glower only slightly. "Would you care to tell me what is so damn funny?" he hissed, whispering.  
  
Mac gave him a dumb look. "If you'd quit scowling and pay attention, you'd see," she whispered back.  
  
"See what? Webb and my cousin getting far too friendly?" he shot back, still scowling.  
  
Mac rolled her eyes. "No. Webb getting played like a cheap piano. Looks like the Tin Man may have met his match." Harm's face went from scowling to uncertain. "Just watch," she told him, then waited.  
  
Sure enough, between the fingers caressing the base of his neck and whatever it was she was whispering in a low, sultry tone in his ear, Webb was at his limits, and completely distracted. Which was, of course, exactly where Mercedes Rabb wanted him.  
  
Slowly, the hand on his neck worked its way around to the side, nimble fingers teasingly caressing his earlobe, sliding behind his ear... and suddenly, Webb's knees went out from under him as he collapsed in a heap. Harm and Mac watched in surprise as CD quickly stepped away and rebuttoned her shirt, before bending down next to Clay. In an instant, she was all business again.  
  
"Mr. Webb," she announced, "Let me give you a bit of advice. Do not challenge someone to "take you out" who has an extensive knowledge of human anatomy... which includes the location of every major nerve junction in the body."  
  
Quickly redoing her hair in its customary bun, she donned her coat. Retrieving her hat from Mac, she told them, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go grab a bit of air before retiring for the night," she said, scooping up the ubiquitous knapsack and swinging it over a shoulder.  
  
Harm broke in. "Um, CD? Do we need to get help for Webb?"  
  
She gave her cousin a wry glance. "Medical help, no. The effects should wear off in a bit. Any other sort of help... that's another story." With that, she disappeared out the door.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	26. Chapter 25

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Harm and Mac looking at each   
other in bewilderment and at Clay in a heap on the floor. Mac was quickly   
getting the feeling that being around Mercedes Rabb was somewhat akin to   
trailing behind a hurricane. In other words, not too different from being   
around Harm, she thought with a grin.  
  
The human hurricane in question spoke up. "Well, I suppose we should do   
something," he said in a low voice, "but I'd rather you stayed here."  
  
Mac glanced over at Clay, who appeared to be slowly recovering. "What   
about Webb?"  
  
"A little humility never hurt anyone."  
  
"Like you would know," she shot back.  
  
"Hey, I'm not that bad..."  
  
Mac sighed. "Look, I'll stay here with Webb and make sure he's okay after   
Mercedes's little stunt. You go track down your cousin."  
  
Harm paused for a moment, and Mac could tell he was trying to find a way   
out of her suggestion. "Mac, I'm sure she'll be fine..."  
  
Her temper flared. "No, Harm. You know you've barely talked to her. And   
she needs to talk to you." He opened his mouth to protest again, but she cut him   
off. "Dammit, he may have been your father, but he was also her uncle. And   
she's gone through this whole mess by herself. And may I remind you that until   
those DNA results came up in the lab that day, she still thought he was missing?   
I'm assuming you never told her about what we found..."  
  
Harm visibly deflated. "You're right," he admitted reluctantly, before   
looking at her with pleading eyes. "Mac... What do I say to her?"  
  
Mac softened. "I don't know, Harm," she admitted quietly. "But you need   
to say something," she added, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Now go."  
  
They were still for a moment, before Harm reached up to gently caress the   
side of her face. "I'll be right back," he said, shrugging into his jacket,   
then stopped, staring down at her. "Take care, Marine," he whispered, then   
leaned down to briefly brush his lips against hers. Then he was gone, the door   
banging behind him.  
  
  
****  
  
  
Harm found Mercedes a good distance from the house, sitting against a tree   
and staring up at star-filled sky. "Mind if I join you?" he asked quietly.  
  
She gestured to a nearby spot, waiting for him to take a seat before   
speaking. "So, are you here to chew me out for that little stunt with Clay, or   
because Mac sent you out here to look after me?"  
  
He smiled a bit. "Mac."  
  
She returned the smile. "Figures. She's a helluva lady."  
  
"That she is," he replied, a wide, warm smile creeping across his features.  
  
Silence fell between the cousins, but not an uncomfortable one. For all   
that they'd been out of touch and at each other's throats in the past, those   
issues were simply light chop on the surface of an otherwise calm, deep sea of   
trust and understanding. Being who they were, sometimes the cousins Rabb   
communicated best without saying a word. To Mercedes, Harm's presence and lack   
of pressure was his way of apologizing; he wouldn't say anything until she did,   
giving control of the situation over to her. For Harm, Mercedes's silence let   
him know that while much was on her mind, his immediate presence was welcome.   
She had always been outspoken, and if Mercedes Rabb didn't want to be around   
someone, Harm knew she either point-blank told them so, or simply got up and   
left.  
  
It was some time later when Mercedes sighed deeply. "I know you're dying   
to ask, so you might as well go ahead," she said flatly.  
  
Harm swallowed. "Mercedes, I know it's really none of my business--"  
  
"You do?" she said in pure disbelief.  
  
He grinned sheepishly. "Mac reminded me."  
  
"Ah. Before or after you decked him?"  
  
"After. You're not mad at me about that, are you?"  
  
She laughed weakly. "It would be a bit silly to be mad at you for doing   
the same thing I had done a few minutes earlier."  
  
Harm paused, digesting this. "True. I hadn't thought of it that way."   
He paused again, trying for a completely neutral tone. "Can I ask why?"  
  
She dropped her head into her hands, massaging her temples. "Certainly.   
Problem is, I don't have an answer for that one, short of the standard joke."   
Harm looked at her questioningly. "You're asking me what I was thinking when   
Webb and I ... you know. But the truth is, a better question is not what was I   
thinking, but was I thinking at all-- and I'm pretty sure the answer is no," she   
finished with a weak laugh. "Kinda like when I lied to your boss," she added   
ruefully.  
  
Harm looked at her for a moment. "You know, I'd ask how the hell you keep   
getting yourself into situations like this, except--"  
  
"--you do exactly the same thing," she finished with a grin.  
  
Harm laughed softly himself. "Exactly. I swear, CD, sometimes---"  
  
He stopped short as something caught his eye, alert tension filling him   
instantly.  
  
"Harm?" CD asked uncertainly. She could tell simply by the change in his   
body language that something was up... and likely wrong. "What is it?" Even as   
she spoke, her voice dropped in volume and she reflexively reached for the bag   
next to her.  
  
"I thought I saw something," he answered, his voice just above a whisper.   
"Something moving over there." He was already getting to his feet, but staying   
close against the tree.  
  
Mercedes followed suit, swinging the bag on to her shoulder. "Where?"  
  
"Over there, maybe 100 yards away, ten o'clock."  
  
Looking where he had indicated, she saw nothing. But chilled fingers of   
suspicion were creeping up her spine. "I don't see anything, but I'm getting a   
bad feeling about this. You?" He nodded. "I think we---"  
  
CD stopped short as she heard a rustling sound off to her far right.   
Someone was there.  
  
Harm had heard it too. "Shit. CD--"  
  
"I know. We've got company." Then her eyes went wide as she and Harm came   
to the same realization simultaneously.  
  
"Oh no. Clay and Mac--"  
  
Harm silenced her with a hand over her mouth. "Follow me, and keep your   
eyes open," he ordered.  
  
She nodded, and slowly, silently, they worked they way back toward the   
farmhouse, intent on warning the others.  
  
They never got the chance.  
  
  
TBC....... 


	27. Chapter 26

AN: Disclaimers & info in part 1.  
  
AN2: As before, dialogue in is in Russian.  
********************************  
  
  
Darting through the trees, moving silently as possible, they made their way   
back toward the farmhouse. Even as they approached, they both could see shadowy   
figures surrounding the house, every one of them armed to the teeth.  
  
CD crouched down, trying to come up with a course of action. Next to her,   
Harm was surveying the scene, silently assessing the situation unfolding in   
front of them. Spotting a small grove of large pine trees closer to the house,   
Mercedes tapped Harm on the arm and gestured towards it. The trees would   
provide a better hiding place, as well as putting them closer to the action.  
  
Harm nodded, then gestured for Mercedes to stay put. Swiftly and silently,   
he sprinted to the trees and ducked behind them, constantly checking to see if   
they had been observed.  
  
Nothing. He looked back to where CD was watching him and waiting, and   
signaled to her. Following his lead, she too dashed over, running crouched   
down and low to the ground as she could before almost diving into position next   
to Harm.  
  
Exchanging a worried glance, they noticed even more men surrounding the   
house, waiting for the order to move in. CD looked at Harm, the obvious   
question in her eyes: What are we going to do?  
  
He shook his head, unable to come up with an immediate course of action but   
wracking his brain for some way to get Mac and Webb out of there before the   
troops moved in.  
  
And then it was too late, as the men surrounding the old house efficiently   
split into teams and charged in.  
  
  
*********  
  
  
"You know, Webb," Mac told the now-groaning agent, "She had a point there."  
  
"I do know... the 'point' was the finger she jabbed up behind my ear," he   
complained.  
  
Mac rolled her eyes. "Do you try to make yourself everyone's punching bag,   
or is it just a talent?"  
  
"Genetics. Although," Clay added sitting up and groaning, "I doubt my   
father ever had to deal with anything like the Rabb family."  
  
"Far as I can tell, there is nothing like the Rabb family."  
  
"Isn't that the truth," Webb agreed as Mac helped him to his feet. "And   
it's not just these two, from what I understand---"  
  
The rest of Clay's comment was cut off as several men dressed in black   
fatigues and loaded for bear with automatic weapons charged into the farmhouse.   
Instinctively, he pushed Mac behind him. Marine or no, this wasn't her mess,   
and he wasn't about to let her end up a victim of it.  
  
As automatic rifles were leveled at them, one of the men barked out orders.   
"Stop were you are and don't move!!  
  
Mac didn't have the time or thought to spare to be irritated with Webb's   
protectiveness. Even if she had, she wouldn't have been once she realized what   
Webb had done. In using one arm to shove her behind him, he had also passed his   
pistol to her. She quickly and as surreptitiously as possible tucked it under   
her jacket, even as Webb slowly raised his hands, questioning the men in a   
confused tone. "What is going on here? Why are you pointing guns at us?"  
  
The lead figure spoke again. "We know you are American spies and escaped   
prisoners. We are--" The man stopped short, instead listening something coming   
over the tiny radio earpiece he wore.  
  
A moment later, he turned back to Webb and Mac. "Enough. General   
Tikhomirov will arrive shortly to question you himself. Until then, silence."  
  
Tikhomirov. A name Webb knew too well, for too many reasons.  
  
  
**********  
  
  
Outside, both Rabbs watched the scene continue to unfold, ignoring the   
growing coldness and increasing snowfall. Harm was completely focused on the   
farmhouse, ignoring everything else. He one thought and only one thought in his   
mind: get Mac out of there.  
  
On the other hand, CD was trying to take in every miniscule aspect of their   
surroundings, trying to feel her way through the whole situation... which was   
extremely fortunate for them both.  
  
She heard the car approaching before she saw it. The distinctive low bass   
rumble of a large Benz sedan reached her ears moments before she saw the twin   
beams of the headlights coming up the road to the farm house... and snaking   
their way straight for their hiding spot.  
  
"Down!" CD hissed, dragging Harm by his arm into the underbrush of the tree   
as she flattened herself to the ground.  
  
"What the...?" Harm saw the car and didn't bother finishing his question.   
The lights trailed over the tree but failed to penetrate the darkness beneath   
it.  
  
CD let out the breath she'd been holding. "That was too close."  
  
"Yeah," Harm answered, keeping his eyes on the unfolding scene. He   
watched the Benz pull to a stop outside the farmhouse. A solitary figure exited   
the rear, scanning the scene for a moment before beginning to issue orders. "CD,   
can you--?"  
  
"A bit. He looks older, maybe in his 50s or 60s... he's asking   
something...how many there are." She bit her lip, straining to hear what was   
being said. "I think...."  
  
Her voice trailed off as two figures, hands bound, were drug from the   
house. Mac and Webb were forced to their knees in front of the figure, who   
appeared to regard them with mild interest. This time, when the man spoke, it   
was in English. The crisp winter air carried his voice to where Harm and   
Mercedes were hiding.  
  
"Where are Mercedes and Harmon Rabb?" He demanded.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	28. Chapter 27

AN: Dialogue in ( ) is in Russian.  
********************************************************************************  
  
  
"Where are Mercedes and Harmon Rabb?"  
  
The question hung in the air as Harm and CD both held their breath, waiting   
to see what Mac and Webb would do. Minutes passed without a sound. The Marine   
and the CIA agent held true to their training, and neither said a word.  
  
Then out of nowhere, a loud CRACK echoed through the woods as Mac fell   
backwards from the blow. Immediately she was hauled forward again by the pair of   
soldiers standing behind her.  
  
Back in the trees, CD felt Harm flinch at the blow, and put a restraining   
hand on his shoulder. This was going to be ugly.  
  
For his part, Webb could neither say nor do anything, to his eternal   
frustration. He was worried about Mac, but had faith in her as a Marine.   
Whatever Tikhomirov chose to dish out, she could take. Rabb... Harm was another   
matter. He just hoped that if the man was watching this, he'd have the sense to   
stay hidden, or, alternately, that Mercedes would make damn sure he did.  
  
Though the blow was hard, Mac recovered enough to fling a particularly   
insulting comment at the General in his own language. The man showed little   
reaction, instead turning to Clay. "Where are Mercedes and Harmon Rabb?" he   
repeated.  
  
Webb's mind raced. He might be able to throw Tikhomirov off their track,   
but not if he just told him what he wanted, not at this point. Crap... this   
was going to hurt. But it was worth it if Mercedes... if Harm and Mercedes got   
away.  
  
So he said nothing, receiving a strong punch to his stomach in return that   
left him gasping. In the meantime, Tikhomirov returned his attention to Mac.  
  
  
****  
  
  
"Goddammit, you sonofabitch, leave her alone," Harm ground out, even as   
Mercedes tightened her grip on his shoulder and watched him with a wary eye.   
He didn't notice; he was quickly being consumed by a slow, burning rage building   
in the pit of his stomach.  
  
  
****  
  
  
The General had returned to stand in front of Mac, and repeated his   
question in the same low, even tone. But this time, after she failed to respond,   
he took a step back and looked her over appraisingly. "(Bring her to her feet,)"   
he ordered the two men guarding her, and they roughly dragged her up to stand.   
Tikhomirov continued to look her over, an appraising gleam in his eyes. Finally,   
he stopped, and looked over at a group of soldiers to the left.  
  
"(Sergeant Medeyev,)" he began.  
  
"(Sir!)"  
  
"(I notice you and several of your men have been watching this woman. Does   
she appeal to you?)"  
  
"(Sir?)"  
  
"(Answer me honestly, Sergeant. Is she attractive to you?)"  
  
"(Well, Sir...,)" The sergeant was clearly confused and more than a little   
wary of his superior. "(She...she does have a nice body, sir.)"  
  
Tikhomirov nodded thoughtfully, pausing a bit before replying. "(Very   
well.)" He made a show of looking at his watch. "(We have plenty of time. Why   
don't you and your men take her back into the house and enjoy yourselves a   
bit.)"  
  
To say all hell broke loose would be a grand understatement. The soldiers   
and their sergeant immediately grabbed Mac and began hauling her toward the   
house, despite her struggling and fighting them like a pissed-off bobcat.  
  
"LEAVE HER ALONE!!" Webb bellowed, getting to his feet despite the guards   
behind him. Before he could get another word out, though, a rifle butt was   
slammed forcefully into his stomach.  
  
Out in the pines, a separate battle was going on. At Harm's request,   
Mercedes had been unthinkingly translating word for word the discussion between   
Tikhomirov and Medeyev. Only as the words were leaving her mouth did she realize   
her mistake. Harm had slipped her grasp and made two charging steps when CD   
tackled him, throwing every last ounce of her body weight into the move.   
"Gottverdammt! Harm, stop!" She hissed even as they fell.  
  
Harm quickly spun, trying to pry Mercedes loose. "Goddamn you, let me go!"   
he raged. "I've got to--"  
  
"What, get yourself killed in front of her and have them rape her anyway?!   
Think, damn you!"  
  
"I can't stand by and do nothing!" The pair wrestled, Harm trying to get   
loose, Mercedes hanging on with everything she had.  
  
  
  
  
Back at the house, Webb had recovered enough to raise his head… and see   
the soldiers nearly at the door of the house. "STOP!! PLEASE!!" he yelled,   
forgetting to use Russian in his anguish. "She doesn't know!! They're gone!!   
(Please!!)"  
  
"(STOP!)" Tikhomirov's sharp order echoed through the air, freezing both   
the group of soldiers and the fighting cousins were they were. "Tell me," he   
ordered implacably, fixing Webb with a penetrating glare, "or I let them   
proceed."  
  
"They left some time ago. I told her they were going to talk, but Rabb   
and I decided we should split up. They found another car and took off."  
  
"Where were they going?"  
  
"East. We were going to meet up again in Volgograd."  
  
Tikhomirov stepped back, assessing what Webb had told him. "Volgograd?"   
Webb nodded, praying.  
  
The General turned to the group of soldiers that held a still-struggling   
Mac. "(Sergeant, I fear your pleasure must wait for a later time. Put the   
prisoners in one of the trucks. We are going to Volgograd.)"  
  
  
TBC..... 


	29. Chapter 28

Out in the stand of pines, the cousins remained immobile, watching as   
several large troop transport trucks rumbled in. Webb and Mac were roughly   
loaded into one, multiple soldiers guarding them. Tikhomirov returned to his   
car as the remaining soldiers quickly climbed into the trucks. A few minutes   
later, the small convoy disappeared down the road, the Benz in the lead.  
  
Once they were gone, Mercedes finally released her grip in her cousin,   
moving away slightly. Harm stayed where he was, staring out into the clearing   
where everything had transpired, even as the snow began to fall with renewed   
vigor.  
  
They stayed that way for some time, before CD cautiously broke the   
thickening silence. "Harm?" she asked softly.  
  
"They're gone, CD," was all he said, his voice raw. It was a tone of voice   
she hadn't heard from him in many, many years.  
  
She didn't know what to say to that, so instead she remained silent, just   
watching him for a long moment. Outside the cover of the tree, the storm grew   
wilder and colder. Mercedes felt the familiar and unpleasant sensation of the   
chill creeping into her bones, stealing her warmth. Enough was enough; they had   
to at least get inside.  
  
She got to her feet, making sure to retrieve the bag. Still crouched over,   
she wrapped a gentle hand around his arm. "Come on, we need to get out of this   
storm." No reaction. Nothing. "Harm...?" Still nothing. She pulled on his   
arm, gently but forcefully, and slowly, very slowly, he got to his feet.  
  
This was not good, she thought. Gently, she wrapped her arm around his   
waist, guiding his arm around her shoulders. He turned to look at her, his face   
a mask of absolute desolation that hit her like a blow in her gut. "We'll get   
them back, Harm," she told him determinedly. "I swear it."  
  
"What if we don't?"  
  
She went still for a moment, summoning every last ounce of determination and   
sheer stubbornness to her face. "Then we'll die trying. I'm not leaving   
without them, you, *and* your Dad."  
  
Harm looked at her, studying her face. "You really mean that, don't you?"   
She said nothing, nodding instead. He paused, considering, before he replied.   
"All right, then. Let's go."  
  
Together, they made their way back to the shelter of the house.  
  
  
********************  
  
  
Some time later, they sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, wrapped   
in blankets and nursing cups of hot, dark tea to chase away the chill. Mercedes   
maintained a wary eye on her cousin, as she had ever since Mac and Webb had been   
taken. He'd said next to nothing since they returned to the house, giving only   
monosyllabic answers when absolutely necessary.  
  
Wherever his mind was, it wasn't here, although if Mercedes had to hazard a   
guess, it was somewhere between here and Volgograd, on a military transport   
truck. And she was willing to bet that his heart was right there with it.   
Well, maybe if she was lucky (and stubborn and persistent, she admitted), she   
could at least get most of one of them back here to help her.  
  
She decided to take a bluntly practical approach, rather than a more   
cautious route. She took a deep drink of her tea, then set the mug down.   
"Okay," she announced, "here's the situation. Mac and Clay are prisoners of   
some guy named Tikhomirov, who's apparently looking for us, while we are here in   
a deserted house approximately 120 miles southwest of Yekaterinburg. Correct?"  
  
Harm looked at her oddly for a moment before answering. What the hell was   
Mercedes up to now? "Yeah, that's pretty much right."  
  
She nodded succinctly. "Right. And our ultimate goal is A) get them back,   
and then B) get the hell out of Russia, yes?"  
  
"Yes," Harm said slowly, still uncertain where she was going with this.  
  
"So, given we need to accomplish A before B, let's focus on that. As far   
as we know, Tikhomirov is taking them to Volgograd, ergo, we need to get to   
Volgograd and come up with a way to get them free."  
  
This was getting a bit annoying. "Yes, Miss Obvious. And the point is?"   
Harm replied testily.  
  
His comment was met with a dirty look, although it looked like a grin was   
hiding behind it. "There are two of them, actually. First, we need to come up   
with some sort of course of action and get moving with it. Given what we saw, I   
don't feel too inclined to leave either Mac or Clay in Tikhomirov's care for any   
longer than necessary."  
  
"True," Harm admitted. He hadn't quite thought of that... well, not yet,   
anyway.  
  
"Second," she continued, "You're the military person here, not me, and I   
think it might be a good idea if you helped plan this fiasco. And you were too   
busy moping to think about anything else."  
  
"Hey--"  
  
"And," she charged on, "I know of no better or surer way to get your   
attention than to annoy the crap out of you."  
  
Harm stared at her for a minute. "Damn it, sometimes I hate it when you're   
right."  
  
She shot him her own version of his (in)famous grin. "Hey, it worked,   
didn't it?"  
  
He grinned back. "Yes, it did, you sneak."  
  
She shrugged. "Hey, desperate times and all that. Now, where were we?"  
  
"*You* were saying we needed to get to Volgograd. How far are we talking   
here?"  
  
"Don't know for sure, but if memory serves... hmmm, let's see... Maybe 1200   
miles?"  
  
Harm quickly did the math. "Damn, that's a full day's worth of driving."  
  
"Yeah..." Mercedes bit her lip in thought. Suddenly, her eyebrows rose, and   
she gave Harm a sideways look. "Of course, that's assuming we're in a regular   
car... But ya know, we're in the middle of nowhere, and we'll be traveling   
through eastern nowhere to get where we're going... Now, say, if we had   
something a little more exotic, a bit faster..."  
  
Harm picked up on her thoughts. "Like, say, a Lamborghini?"  
  
She grinned wickedly. "Exactly like that."  
  
  
TBC...... 


	30. Chapter 29

"Okay, we've got transportation covered," Harm said. "Now what about when we get there?"  
  
CD's good mood vanished as her face fell. "I don't know," she admitted gloomily. "We don't know anything about this Tikhomirov except that he's got Clay and Mac, and that he's apparently got a lot of money and power at his disposal."  
  
Harm looked at her disbelievingly. "You've never met him?"  
  
She shook her head. "Never even heard of him. You haven't, either?"  
  
"Nope. Which leaves me wondering..." his voice trailed off, his eyes locking with hers.  
  
They finished the thought simultaneously. "...how does he know us?" Confusion reigned on their faces while they both attempted to come up with an answer. Silence reigned for some time as both wracked their brains, searching. The only sound was the fire crackling and Harm's fingers drumming quietly on the floor.  
  
Opposite him, CD rested her chin on her hands, thinking, but came up with nothing. Finally, in frustration, she stretched her neck, tilting and turning it until she felt the joints pop, then repeated her motions. But she froze halfway through as she spotted her bag, lying on the floor nearby. Her breath halted in her chest as the idea hit her.... "Harm," she said tentatively, "what if it isn't necessarily you or me he knows?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Tikhomirov is an old man... and we're not the only Rabbs in Russia."  
  
He stared at her in shock. "Dad?"  
  
"It makes sense, Harm."  
  
"Yeah...." he said slowly. "It does."  
  
Silence fell for several minutes before Mercedes spoke again. "Still, we don't know that for sure. Dammit... we need more information before we make a move."  
  
He nodded. "Agreed."  
  
She took a swig of her tea before replying. "Well, I'm out of contacts over here, at least any that would be likely or able to help us."  
  
Harm thought for a moment. "Much as I hate to admit it, this is Webb's forte, not mine," he said grudgingly.  
  
She nodded. "So we're out of luck."  
  
"I didn't say that. I can think of one or two people from previous trips over here than might be willing to help. Reaching them will be the problem."  
  
She held up a hand. "Wait. Stop. Back up there... What were you doing in Russia? Before this, I mean," she added.  
  
Oh, hell.... she still didn't know. Then again, they'd been a bit distracted. "Mercedes," he began, taking a deep breath and speaking softly, "Mac and I tracked Dad to Russia several years ago. We found out he'd escaped and... lived with... a local woman for some time. He was shot saving her from being raped by a group of soldiers. Her brother buried him out in the taiga, but she couldn't remember exactly where."  
  
Mercedes's face showed a mixture of shock and sadness, and it took her a moment to find her voice. "And no one knew? Only you and Mac?"  
  
"Webb and Admiral Chegwidden do too, but no one else was ever told. Chegwidden had to bail us out at the last minute, and Webb... well, he tracked us and provided a lot of information along the way."  
  
She nodded. "So you knew what happened, but you really didn't know where he was..."  
  
He shook his head. "Not specifically, no. I figured that was the end of it. But...um, well..." He sighed. "There's no good way to tell you this. Mercedes... you've got another cousin."  
  
Mercedes's eyes bulged as she choked on the tea she had just sipped. A strangled-sounding "WHAT?!" was gasped out in between fits of coughing.  
  
"I was sent over here to work on a project on the Russian military justice system. The short version is that I ended up in Chechnya investigating a corrupt general who ultimately tried to assassinate the Russian President. In the process, I met a helicopter pilot, Sgt. Sergei Zuhkov. He's the son of the woman Dad was with and... well, he's my brother. I'm positive of it." Harm finally looked up at his cousin, only to find her blankly staring at him. "Mercedes?" he asked tentatively.  
  
It was a long moment before she let out a loud groan, dropping her head into her hands. "Lieber Gott in Himmel," she muttered. "My worst nightmare *has* come true. There ARE two of you, only this one's a rotor head instead of a jet jockey," she said melodramatically, shaking her head.  
  
Harm couldn't help it. Of all the reactions he'd expected, this wasn't one of them, and better than he had hoped. He fought it, but it wasn't long before the smirking grin on his face turned into full-blown laughter.  
  
It was an even short period of time before CD looked up at him in disgust, then joined him.  
  
  
******************************  
Next day  
0740 local  
  
  
They had decided to stay the night and try to sleep some before hitting the road. Now, dressed, somewhat cleaned up and having raided the house for anything of use, they made their way back to where they had left the van and the exotic sportscar.  
  
Surprisingly, both were as they had been left. Apparently, Tikhomirov and his troops had believed Webb enough that they hadn't felt the need to disable the cars, since they believed Harm and CD were already gone.  
  
"I'll drive the first shift," Harm offered, only to find Mercedes giving him a dubious look.  
  
"Uh... you sure you can handle this thing?" she asked uncertainly.  
  
He gave her a dirty look. "CD, I fly Tomcats. I know how to handle high-performance vehicles, believe it or not."  
  
"Well, yeah, but---"  
  
"Just get in the car, Mercedes."  
  
She sighed, shrugging. "Yes sir," she muttered, going around to the passenger side of the car.  
  
And looked over to find Harm trying to open the door sideways, like most cars. Apparently, he'd forgotten yesterday... "Harm," she called to him.  
  
"CD, I thought you didn't have the keys to this thing."  
  
"I don't. It's hotwired. Harm--"  
  
"Then why the hell in the damn door locked?" he grumbled.  
  
She sighed again, rolling her eyes. She loved her cousin dearly, really. This didn't mean she didn't want to throttle him periodically. She watched him struggle for a bit longer, then opened her own door.  
  
With a slight tug and a flip of the handle, the door opened, swinging upward gracefully with a whooshing sound. She looked up to find Harm glaring at her over the top of the car. She gave him a saccharine smile. "Maybe I should take the first shift?" she asked innocently.  
  
He stood there glaring for several moments, before grudgingly walking over to her side of the car. "All yours," he grumbled, sulking.  
  
She smiled again, then dashed around to the driver's side. "Now, strap in, coz," she said, grinning. Her response was yet another glare as he yanked the seatbelt down and clicked it into place. "Thank you," she said wryly.  
  
"Just get going already."  
  
"As you wish," she said, and punched the clutch in, then tapped together the necessary wires. The car surged to life with a rumbling roar, and she couldn't help but notice Harm's eyebrows go up a notch or two. "You know, there's an old, wise saying that seems to really fit right now."  
  
"Really. What?"  
  
"Sit down, strap in, shut up, and hold on!!!" With that, she threw the car into gear, taking off in a spray of gravel.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	31. Chapter 30

************************************************************************  
Approximately 6 hours later  
346 miles west-northwest of Kuybyskev  
  
  
Harm blinked, slowly waking up. Through some miracle, he drifted off to sleep not long after they'd left the farmhouse. Despite the rough start, Mercedes handled the car smoothly and easily, and soon, the thrum of the powerful engine had lulled him into sleep.  
  
He turned to look at his cousin, who was still ensconced behind the wheel. "Hey."  
  
"Hey yourself," she replied, not taking her eyes from their periodic checking of the road and the gauges in front of her. "I know you slept, but did you get any rest?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, glancing at his watch. Damn. "CD, you've been driving for hours. You should have woke me."  
  
"Relax. I'm fine," she assured him. "But I am going to ask you to take a shift before too long. My butt's getting really numb."  
  
"More information than I needed," he replied wryly. "Whenever you need a break, just say so."  
  
"Believe me, I will. Oh, yeah," she added, "I found something that might be useful. Check behind my seat."  
  
Harm reached back, fumbling around a bit before his fingers closed around a familiar object. "You've got to be kidding me. A cell phone?" he said incredulously.  
  
"Not just any cell, either, but a satellite relay cell. Thing works anywhere," she replied, grinning. "Don't suppose you recall any of those contacts's phone numbers?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"No, but I remember a number that will get me in touch one of them. One problem, though."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't speak Russian."  
  
She thought for a moment. "Your contact... he's a guy?"  
  
"Yeah...."  
  
"Single?"  
  
"Far as I know."  
  
"Not a problem, then," she said smiling.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
A few minutes later, the Lamborghini was parked by the side of the road, and Harm had given Mercedes the number to dial. "Captain Alexsandr Volkonov, right?" she asked.  
  
"Right. Mercedes, what are you doing?" Harm asked, slightly nervous.  
  
She grinned. "Watch and learn, grasshopper," she said in a bad Japanese accent, before quickly switching to Russian. "Hello? Is this the Legal directorate? Oh, good. I am *desperately* trying to reach my boyfriend. I have some very important news for him-- really is very urgent.... Why?... Look, I'm at the doctor's office, I don't have his number with me. I tell you, this is important! I must speak with him!! ...You can? Oh, thank you," she finished tearfully, at the same time giving Harm a thumbs-up. "Yes.... yes.... Yes, I have it. Thank you so very much!!" She gasped, then hung up, immediately dialing a different number while Harm watched, grinning in amazement.  
  
She cleared her throat as it rang, then spoke again, this time adopting a nasal tone to her voice. "Captain Alexsandr Volkonov? I have a long distance call for you from the United States. Please hold while I connect you," she said, then covered the mouthpiece and handed the phone to Harm. "All yours," she told him.  
  
He just shook his head, putting the phone to his ear. "Umm...Captain Volkonov?"  
  
A familiar voice replied, the Russian accent thick. "Yes, this is Alex Volkonov. Who is this?"  
  
"Ummm... Alex, it's Harm Rabb."  
  
"Harm! What a surprise! How are you?"  
  
"Well enough, all things considered," he answered evasively, trying to come up with some way to contact Alex without tipping off anyone who might be listening in. An idea came to him, and he continued. "Where they hiding you these days?"  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that, although the weather in Gork'iy these days leaves much to be desired. How about you?"  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Harm replied dryly. "Alex, I called because I was hoping you could do me a favor."  
  
"What sort of favor?"  
  
"I have a friend touring southwest Russia, and when we were discussing her trip, your name came up. Ever since, she's been dying to meet you," Harm told him, meanwhile grinning wickedly at Mercedes, who only rolled her eyes in response.  
  
"Really. This friend... you said she?"  
  
"Yes." Harm smiled. This was easier than he'd thought. He noticed Mercedes was busy looking at a map and scribbling something on a scrap of paper she'd found. Hopefully, she was coming up with a time and place to meet.  
  
"Hmmm. Where does she want to meet?"  
  
Inside the car, the next 30 seconds resembled a silent version of a Three Stooges movie, starting with Harm making a desperate grab for the paper that sent both it and the pen flying into one of the many tight nooks and crannies of the car and ending with CD bent sideways over the center console as she retrieve the paper from the floor, literally shoving the item in Harm's face. "Uhhh....ummm.... oh, yeah. How about in Ponza?"  
  
Harm felt CD's head hitting the floor in frustration along with a smack to his shin, even as Alex said, "You mean Penza, my friend?"  
  
"Yeah, that's it. I never can read her handwriting," Harm replied with a weak laugh, even as CD began trying to extract herself.  
  
"I think that will work. When will she be there?"  
  
Harm tried desperately to keep his voice even and his face neutral even as CD got stuck... right between the gearshift and his seat. "Uhhh... Is tomorrow evening good? Say, 1900?"  
  
"Fine... How will I know her?"  
  
"Oh, she'll know you," He said, not bothering to fight his grin, even as a string of curses that mixed Russian, German, and English began issuing from somewhere near his hip. "But just in case, she's about 35, tall, blonde, and blue eyed."  
  
"Well...." Harm could almost hear the smile spreading across Alex's face. "I think I shall be *very* glad to meet this friend of yours, Harm. But I'm afraid I must go. Good to hear from you."  
  
"Likewise, Alex," Harm replied, then hung up the phone before turning his attention to his cousin. "Having problems, CD?" he asked innocently.  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	32. Chapter 31

WARNING: Fairly detailed and potentially vivid torture described within. If you're squeamish about such things, proceed with caution.  
  
  
****************************************  
Volgograd  
Same Day (December 14)  
1746 local  
  
  
According to her internal clock, she had been in the cell for precisely a day now, Mac thought, as she watched the last few weak rays of sunlight wither to dusk. In that time, she'd had little to occupy her time, but much to occupy her mind.  
  
Bad as the jail in Yekaterinburg had been, this one was far worse. It was much older, the walls and floors being stone rather than cement. There were no bars for this jail; the only openings were the tiny window, far above her head and covered with iron grating, and the door, a massive metal-bound wooden affair. Empty except for a crude chamber pot and a small pallet of moldy straw, it was cold, damp, dark, and disgusting. Frankly, it was more dungeon and less jail cell. At least there hadn't been any rats yet.  
  
The lack of rodent company was one of the very few positive points. The lack of attention she'd received had surprisingly been one of the others. Other than some basic food slid through a slot in the bottom of the door, she'd seen nor heard any sign of human presence.  
  
And that was bad... because one of the humans she'd not seen nor heard from was Clayton Webb. They'd been blindfolded shortly after being loaded into the trucks. From the truck, they'd been transferred to a helicopter, but Webb had still been with her. He'd deliberately stumbled on getting in, tripping into her. Not exactly subtle, but she'd known he was there. And as much as she prided herself on being a tough, self-sufficient Marine, the knowledge of his presence had been a tiny but welcome comfort. Hey, even the Marines needed reinforcements sometimes.  
  
But they'd been separated ever since the helo landed, and she'd been brought here. Wherever Webb was, she could only hope he was all right.  
  
Webb wasn't the only one in her thoughts. She stood and paced the cramped confines of the room, attempting to both warm herself and keep her thoughts from turning to Harm. She wasn't particularly successful at either.  
  
Harm... She shook her head, as if attempting to banish the darker, bleaker possibilities from her mind. If nothing else, she could somewhat reassure herself with the fact that he wasn't alone; he had his cousin, who, somewhat surprisingly, had proven herself to be highly resourceful. She tried to reassure herself with that thought.  
  
Mercedes would make sure Harm got out safely, she told herself. No matter what happened, Harm would be safe. Even if Mac herself wasn't.  
  
It wasn't her nature to give up, but trapped in this medieval throwback of a cell and seemingly forgotten, hope was fading all too fast. Whoever this General Tikhomirov was, he obviously had more than enough money and power to make people disappear. People like her.  
  
Giving in to her growing despair, she thought of the past two years in particular. What a waste, she realized. She let herself get lost, let her emotions override her sense. Taking Mic's ring, letting that farce continue, that hadn't even been her biggest error. Her biggest mistake had been giving up. Plain and simple. She'd given up on Harm that night on the ferry. Yes, he'd left, and yes, it hurt like hell. It had been an open wound that refused to heal, instead festering to the point where she'd let a man who tried to convict her of murder slowly replace one who would and had gone to hell and back for her.  
  
What the hell had she been thinking? There had been a time when she wouldn't have let anything stop her from getting what she wanted. But a small voice in her head reminded her: Harm left.  
  
And she answered back with what should have been equally as important all along: he came back. And for all the pain, all the hurt he caused her, he always stood by her, stood up for her in so many ways. In some way, he was always with her, whether she wanted him there or not.  
  
Why?  
  
There was only one answer, one single reason that made sense. She just hoped that same reason wouldn't lead him to death in the midst of a harsh Russian winter.  
  
  
************************************************  
Same location  
Different cell  
  
  
He always had an odd relationship with death, reflected Clayton Webb. It seemed like he either knew far too much about its circumstances, or far too little. In the case of his father, it was too little.  
  
Now, facing his own, he freely acknowledged he knew far, far too much.  
  
They'd figured out who he was a while ago. Before then, it had been mostly intimidation, with an occasional slap or punch thrown in for variety. Then the folder had been passed to Tikhomirov.  
  
General Kyril Andreievitch Tikhomirov. One of the most outright brutal men to ever serve Mother Russia. Early in his army career, Tikhomirov had learned that the more extreme his threats were, the better results he achieved-- particularly since he had no qualms about carrying out those threats, and often did. Both his reputation and his methods had served him well, giving him a rapid rise in the GRU, the military version of the KGB.  
  
Anyone who might question that reputation need only look at the current scene. Trapped in the closest thing to a medieval torture chamber he'd ever seen, Clay hung suspended from a set of shackles that were bolted to the ceiling. His feet were only inches from the ground, inches from granting his hyper-extended arms and shoulders some relief from their burden.  
  
The methods had varied, once he'd been moved to this chamber of horrors. His refusal to speak initially inspired a simple beating, which was later augmented by the General himself pressing his lit cigar into the sensitive skin on the underside of his arms. Then came the cat o' nine tails, flaying the skin across his back in bloody strips. Finally, they had doused him in cold water and administered electrical shocks, before quitting, at least for a while.  
  
He'd been left, soaking wet, simply to hang, while the coldness stole what remaining warmth he had, pain becoming the only thing he could feel. His mind wandered; to Mac, praying that she was safe and not being subjected to Tikhomirov's wrath; to Harm, hoping that the man would think first and act second when the inevitable rescue was staged; to Mercedes, sharp-witted and stubborn, a haunted beauty. They were all victims of Tikhomirov, really, himself included. The Russian had brought pain in many forms to all of their lives.  
  
But hopefully, if there was any mercy in this world, only his own death would be credited to Kyril Andreievitch.  
  
Just like that, he suspected, of Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Sr.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	33. Chapter 32

***********************************************************************  
Penza  
Local Hotel, Room 32  
  
  
"You know, there's something I need to remember to do when we get back to the States."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Kill you slowly and painfully for making me do this," Mercedes's tone of voice, like her mood, had passed mere irritation hours ago and was currently registering somewhere around 'royally pissed off'.  
  
"Aw, come on, CD, it's not that bad. Personally, I think you look pretty good," Harm began reasonably.  
  
"You would," she muttered disgustedly.  
  
"Besides," Harm continued, "Renee dresses-- er, dressed like that all the time," he added, then stopped at the look she was giving him. "What?"  
  
"I'm trying to decide whether to inform you how moronic and insulting that comment was, or just cut to the chase and beat you to a pulp."  
  
"Mercedes! What the hell is the big deal?" Harm said, exasperated.   
"It's just some clothes and a little make-up."  
  
"First," she said, ticking off the points on her now-fire-engine-red lacquered nails, "it is *not* *just* some clothes and make up. I look like a Moscow hooker, and if I put even another molecule of mascara on I won't be able to lift my eyelids. Second, you are seriously warped if you think there is nothing wrong with the way I look. And third, while I'm perfectly willing to play up this ruse, you can't expect me not to feel a little irritated and degraded by being forced into a stereotype I've had to bust my ass for years in two different professions to get around," she finished.  
  
As was her gift, his cousin had just pointed out every flaw in his idea and made him feel like a total heel to boot with a short but succinct diatribe. Damn. He glanced over the 'disguise' he'd planned for her, taking in the high, high heels, short skirt and low cut blouse, and the overdone hair and makeup. He sighed.... she did have a point...his cousin looked like a local streetwalker.  
  
"Harm?"  
  
He looked up at her face, and caught the pleading look in her eyes. Damn, damn, damn. "I didn't realize it was that bad," he admitted. "Go, change. I don't know why I thought you needed all that crap in the first place."  
  
"Well...." Having won the battle, CD could afford to be the gracious victor. Besides, she knew Harm had meant well; he was just being his typically clueless self. "It's not all bad," She added, concedingly. "Let me have a little time to work here, and let's see what I can come up with," she said, making her way to the bathroom.  
  
"Okay, but remember, we've only got 2 hours until we meet Alex."  
  
She gestured in acknowledgement as she disappeared into the bathroom. Tense, impatient, and worried, Harm tried sitting for a while before giving up and returning to pace in front of the window as he had earlier. He wanted this meeting over with, dammit, so he could go get Mac and get them the hell out of Russia. Logically, he'd known there was nothing he could have done at the time except make matters worse, but there was still a small voice in the back of his mind that kept repeating accusingly, "You abandoned Mac, and she's gone."  
  
He wasn't sure he could how long he could keep ignoring that voice. Dammit, he had to, though.  
  
"Well, whaddya think?"  
  
Harm turned around, and his jaw hit the floor. It was some time before he recovered enough to find his voice. "Who are you and what the hell did you do with my cousin?" he managed to get out, all the while still trying to take in the picture in front of him.  
  
The short skirt had been ditched in favor of a pair of soft, well-worn blue jeans that might as well have been painted on. The black heels stayed, but the cheap white low-cut blouse had been replaced with a sapphire blue silk shirt with a few buttons daringly undone. The biggest change, however, came in the face and hair. The paste-thick heavy makeup was gone. Instead, pale porcelain skin was paired with deepest ruby lips and lightly accented eyes.  
  
Many years ago, when both were teenagers, Harm had commented to Mercedes that if she wanted male attention, all she had to do was leave her hair long and loose. Apparently, she'd remembered this well; Her white gold hair fanned back from her face, falling in gentle waves nearly to her waist.  
  
In short, she looked incredible, and Harm didn't doubt Alex Volkonov would be hooked like a dumb trout.  
  
Forcibly returning his eyes to her face, he saw her grinning like the cat that not only ate the canary, but got a couple of other creatures too. "So I take it you like it?" she asked, perfectly aware of the answer.  
  
"Mercedes?"  
  
"Yeah, Harm?"  
  
"If I ever try to dress you again, just shoot me."  
  
"With greatest pleasure. Now... Let's go meet Volkonov."  
  
  
******************************************************************  
Almost two hours later  
Local restaurant  
  
  
Alexsandr Volkonov sighed, idly tracing a random design on the tiny cafe table. This was what he got for being early. Hopefully Harm's friend would show up soon. Oh well... at least he wasn't in Gork'iy, sitting in his mausoleum-like office.  
  
He looked up as the door slammed shut... and stared. This couldn't be Harm's friend. He wouldn't be that lucky.  
  
The statuesque blonde glanced around for a moment, then spotted him and tentatively made her way over. Having found his manners, Alex stood. Unfortunately, he was still searching for his voice.  
  
The blonde stopped at the table, and then smiled warmly. "Herr Kapitan Alexsandr Volkonov?" she queried, her voice heavily accented but crisp. German?  
  
"Yes," he replied. "You are Harm's friend?"  
  
The smile expanded into a dazzling grin. "That I am. Eva-Louisa Von Kleist," she said, extending her hand.  
  
Rather than accept the proffered handshake, Alex gently grasped her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Mercedes eyebrows rose. It was a rare man who could pull off that maneuver and come off a true gentleman. Alex Volkonov succeeded admirably (unlike a certain Australian), CD thought. It really was a shame, what she was going to have to do, but they were desperate.  
  
They sat, Alex having held out CD's chair and seated her before doing so himself. "So," he began, smiling widely as "Eva-Louisa" fumbled a bit with her jacket, "You are on a tour of Russia. Where have you traveled so far?"  
  
She waved her left hand airily. "Oh, here and there... Moscow, of course, Vyatka, Perm, but mostly Yekaterinburg."  
  
Volkonov frowned slightly. "Ah, yes... I understand there was some sort of crime spree there recently."  
  
Oh, shit. He would have to mention that, CD thought. Oh well, time to cut to the chase.  
  
"Funny you should mention that, Herr Kapitian," she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward over the small table. "That, and other similar things, is exactly what I want to talk to you about, but not here. Why don't you and I take a little walk?"  
  
Alex's senses were on alert. "Why not?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"I think you'd just better come with me, Kapitain Volkonov," the woman said, even as Alex's protest was cut off by click of a gun being cocked.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	34. Chapter 33

"What is going on here?!"  
  
"Keep your voice down," the woman ordered coolly, pressing the gun against his stomach under the small table.  
  
The pointed reminder did nothing to calm Alex's growing panic. "Keep my voice--? Who are you? What do you want?" he hissed, nevertheless obeying her command.  
  
She sighed, and he almost thought he saw regret on her face. "Look, the last thing I want to do is... harm you. But I have to have your cooperation, and in the end, I thought it best for you if it looked like this wasn't entirely voluntary," she explained.  
  
Alex gave her a look of pure frustration. "I still do not understand what is going on here."  
  
"You won't, not until later. Now listen up and play along. You and I are going to take a little walk back to my hotel room. Try to get away, or alert anyone, and you'll be dead before you can take three steps," she answered coldly. He watched as carefully, surreptitiously, she hid the gun in her coat pocket, all the while keeping it trained on him.  
  
She stood, motioning him to do the same, before linking her free arm in his and pressing closely to him. Leaning in, she whispered in his ear. "Let's go, Herr Kapitain."  
  
  
*****  
Twenty minutes later  
Local hotel  
  
  
Having taken a long, meandering path to the hotel, the mystery woman now led Alex to one of the rooms. She pressed a key into his hand, wordlessly indicating for him to open the door and go in.  
  
She followed him in, making sure the door was firmly shut before removing the gun from her pocket and directing him to the bed with it. "Have a seat, Herr Kapitain. Our third will be along shortly."  
  
Third? What the...?  
  
Alex Volkonov had been in a number of unusual situations in his life, but this one beat them all.  
  
Sure enough, there was a knock at the door a few minutes later. His 'guard' stepped closer, even as a voice on the other side called out, "Alles   
klar?"  
  
"Ja. Kommt herein," she replied, even as she checked the window.  
  
The door opened, and a tall figure entered, his clothing a nondescript coat and slacks, his face hidden by a black fedora. He carefully closed the door behind him and spoke to the blonde woman in a low tone, still speaking what Alex thought was German.  
  
Their discussion over, he turned to Volkonov, lifting his head so that his face could be seen. "Hello, Alex."  
  
"Harm!?! But you... you just called me from Washington! How... What are you doing in Russia? And who is that?" Alex demanded, pointing at the blonde.  
  
"It's a long story. As for her...." Harm paused. "Captain Alex Volkonov, meet Mercedes Rabb. My cousin."  
  
Alex was speechless, even as CD tucked the gun into the waist of her jeans. "Hi. Sorry about the gun, Captain, but like I said, I need to be positive you'd play along," she said apologetically.  
  
A thoroughly flabbergasted Alex looked at her, then at Harm. "Your cousin." Harm nodded. "Last time it was your brother. Are there any other members of your family around I should know about?"  
  
"Actually, yes," Mercedes replied before Harm could answer. "In fact, he's the reason we're all here and why we need your help." She strode over to where a large knapsack was sitting on a table, and carefully removed a good-size metal box. "Alex Volkonov, meet Lt. Harmon Rabb Sr.," she said, gesturing to the box.  
  
  
  
TBC.... 


	35. Chapter 34

"Harm?" Alex Volkonov couldn't believe his eyes. The man in front of him was anything but the squared-away officer he'd met; he was dressed in worn, ill-fitting clothes, and clearly hadn't shaved in a week or more. But there was no mistaking those features, especially those damn ocean-colored eyes. He was looking at Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.  
  
His head was spinning, trying to adsorb everything. Harm was in Russia; the blonde woman who had posed as Harm's 'friend' and then pulled a gun on him was actually his cousin, Mercedes; and the metal box she had just pulled out... was Harm's father?  
  
Alex glanced at the box, then Mercedes, then finally back at Harm. Would someone please explain to me what is going on?" he asked, aggrieved.  
  
The cousins glanced at each other. "He's your friend," Mercedes said, dropping into a chair.  
  
Harm nodded, and pulled up a chair. "Look, Alex, we need your help," he began.  
  
"What sort of help?" Volkonov asked warily.  
  
"Information, to start," Mercedes interjected. "Beyond that, we don't know. We don't have enough information to know what we're even going to do at this point."  
  
Volkonov looked at her with eyebrows raised. "You need to *do* something?"  
  
"CD," Harm warned. Leave it to her to get things way out of hand before they even got started. "Alex... do you remember my partner, Sarah MacKenzie?"  
  
"The lady Marine? She is here too?" Alex's voice rose with his disbelief.  
  
"She's been taken prisoner." Mercedes's voice was flat.  
  
Alex's head turned to look at her, then snapped back to Harm. "This is true?"  
  
He nodded. "Mac and ... a friend from the State department were taken prisoner by a General."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"They were trying to capture us, or rather, me." Mercedes voice was low.  
  
By now, Alex had figured out the way things worked, and looked to Harm for an explanation. "Mercedes is a forensic specialist, and was here before to work on the team that examined the Romanov remains... when was that?"  
  
"In '92," she replied, then picked up the story. 'Anyway, I got to be friends with some of the local techs. A little while ago, one of them called me and offered me a chance to work on a set of unknown remains discovered in the taiga. I accepted, and came over and went to work. By pure accident, I discovered the identity." She gestured to the metal case. "The skeletal remains belonged to Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Senior-- my uncle."  
  
"You had no doubt about this?" Alex asked.  
  
"Even if the DNA hadn't pointed me in the right direction, the wedding band engraved with my aunt and uncle's names pretty much answered the question," she replied, then continued her story.  
  
"Anyway, I immediately returned to the US, and tried to get some help, even though no one else knew the remains's identity, except the tech who called me in-- Georgi Sevastinov. I came back to Yekaterinburg, to see what I could do on my own."  
  
"I got back to the morgue at night--- and returned to the lab to find Georgi dead and someone stealing the remains. He then promptly tried to kill me."  
  
"Tried to kill you?" Alex repeated.  
  
"Shot at me. I fought him off, then did the only thing that came to mind--grab the remains and run like hell."  
  
Alex nodded, then looked at Harm. "How did you get involved in this?" he asked him.  
  
"Mac-- Colonel MacKenzie and I followed Mercedes to Yekaterinburg. We went to the morgue looking for her and got arrested."  
  
"Arrested? For what?"  
  
"Theft of state property and the murder of the lab tech."  
  
Alex muttered a rather virulent Russian curse under his breath, and Mercedes grinned weakly. "Yeah, that's pretty much what we thought, too," she commented.  
  
"So you and the Colonel are in the Yekaterinburg jail, and you," he said, gesturing to Mercedes, "were hiding from someone who was trying to kill you."  
  
"Yeah, except I met up with our, uh, State Department friend. When we heard that Harm and Mac were in jail, we staged a jail break."  
  
"Wait... Yekaterinburg... I heard about something... some crazy person in some wild sportscar managed to destroy half the Yekaterinburg police force during an escape..." He looked at Harm, eyes wide. "That was you?"  
  
Harm looked mildly embarrassed. "We didn't mean to cause all that trouble... we were just trying to get away."  
  
Alex shook his head in amazement, and grinned. "When this is all over, you must teach me your driving secrets."  
  
Mercedes just sighed and rubbed her temples, while Harm had the good grace to now look thoroughly sheepish. "Uh, actually, Alex, she was the one in the sportscar," he half-mumbled.  
  
Alex stared at Mercedes, his eyes fairly bugging out of his head. "You?"  
  
She dismissed it with a wave. "Long story, and irrelevant. We managed to get away from the city, but someone had followed us. Harm and I were outside when they attacked. We hid, but they took Mac and Webb prisoner."  
  
Alex nodded. "And who did this?"  
  
Harm answered. "The man leading them was specifically looking for us--- me and Mercedes. The troops weren't wearing any distinctive uniforms, but--"  
  
"They addressed the leader as General Tikhomirov," Mercedes finished.  
  
"Tikhomirov?" Alex repeated, stunned. "And a general? You are certain of this?" Mercedes nodded, and Alex looked down, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
CD observed his reaction. "Why am I getting the feeling you know exactly who we're talking about, and that's not good."  
  
Alex looked up at her. "There is only one general with that name-- Kyril Andreievitch Tikhomirov. And he is one of the most brutal, ruthless men   
Russia has ever known."  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	36. Chapter 35

The cousins received the new in silence. It was a long moment later when Mercedes finally chose to break the quiet surrounding them. "Tell me everything you know about him," she ordered, forcefully but without emotion.  
  
"He's GRU-- the military counterpart to the KGB. Has been for over thirty years, but began acquiring power about twenty years ago. Before that, he was pretty much just another soldier."  
  
"That still doesn't tell us why he's so interested in us or in Harm's father," she pointed out in irritation.  
  
Harm, who had remained silent until this point, finally spoke, in a low voice. "It was around twenty years ago that Tikhomirov began getting noticed?"  
  
Alex nodded, and Harm fell silent again. However, Mercedes sat up and turned to her cousin. "You're on to something, Harm," she stated. "Tell me."  
  
He ignored her, instead looking to Volkonov. "Would it be possible to find out where Tikhomirov was stationed in the early '80s?"  
  
Volkonov nodded. "We won't even need to pull his official service record, which would... draw notice. There is an unofficial file that is kept for journalists and researchers to use. I can probably access it from any computer."  
  
"Good," Harm replied, leaning back and relaxing slightly. "That should tell me what I need to know."  
  
Mercedes tried again. "Harm, what is it you're thinking?"  
  
He looked her straight in the eye, his blue eyes touched with ice. "I'm thinking we may have found the man who killed my Dad."  
  
  
*****************************************  
Several hours later  
Enroute to Saratov, Russia  
  
  
Eager to get to Volgograd, the cousins had vetoed Volkonov's idea that they accompany him back to Gork'iy, which was in the opposite direction of where Mac and Clay were being held. Instead, they headed south to the city of Saratov, which was home to a small military base. The plan was for Volkonov to bluff his way in and then use their computers to pull up information on Tikhomirov.  
  
At the moment, they were near the small village of Petrovsk. Mercedes had been reluctant to part with the Lamborghini altogether, given its speed. Grudgingly, Harm and Alex gone along, and they retrieved the car from its hiding place outside the city before heading south, rotating driving duties between Volkonov's car and the 'borrowed' Lamborghini. Currently, Harm was following in the Italian sportscar, while Alex and CD led in the slower Russian sedan.  
  
The ride had been quiet, the Russian army officer still uncomfortable with his friend's German cousin. For her part, Mercedes had been too lost in thought to strike up a conversation... until now.  
  
"Captain Volkonov..." She began uncertainly. "May I ask you a question?  
  
He looked at her, noting her nervousness. "Please. It's Alex. And yes... if I may ask you one."  
  
She bit her lip, contemplating, for a moment, then nodded. "Go ahead."  
  
He shook his head, grinning slightly. "Ladies first," he insisted wryly.  
  
She gave a snort of laughter. "I knew you were a gentleman, but obviously not a good judge of character, or you'd know I'm no lady," she replied. Alex... Is this Tikhomirov really as bad as he sounds? I mean, does he really have this penchant for brutality you described? Or could it just be hype-- tales told to get him where he is?"  
  
Alex chose his words carefully, his voice low and serious. "You must understand, Russia is different from the rest of the world. Even now, for a man to have a reputation such as Tikhomirov... words only would not sustain such a thing. And the stories I have heard... I do not speak lightly when I say that they are horrible. He has been reputed to have done tortures which have not been seen since the days of the great Tsars. I think he would be capable of just about anything."  
  
Mercedes had listen in stoic silence, and closed her eyes in pain as he finished. "I had thought as much... Still, I had to know..." she said in a near-whisper.  
  
An alarm bell went off in Alex's head. "You asked for a reason. Why?"  
  
She turned to look out the window, staring blankly into the distance. "If I tell you, I want your word you will not tell Harm what I know. I discovered this; it's my duty to tell him."  
  
Alex nodded. I give you my word none of this will reach your cousin's ear."  
  
She nodded in response, continuing to gaze out the window. "Harm was apparently told his father died from a gunshot wound. I know differently."  
  
"How?"  
  
"His Dad told me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"His bones, actually. My uncle may have been shot-- in fact, it sort of makes sense with what I know-- but that wasn't what killed him. He died very slowly, and very, very painfully. Which is why I'm guessing that Tikhomirov is responsible. What was done-- it fits with his reputation." She turned back to Alex. "I'm grateful for your help, Alex. Really. But after we find out about Tikhomirov's past, I want you out of this. Hell, if I could have my way, I'd want Harm out of it too. It's for the best."  
  
The chill of her eyes and ice in her voice sent shivers skittering down Volkonov's spine. "Mercedes... what are you going to do?" he asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," she admitted, before speaking in a voice backed with steel. "But no one hurts my family and walks away."  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	37. Chapter 36

AN: boyar = Russian for "noble" (count, duke, etc.)  
  
************************************************************************  
Two Days Later (December 18)  
Outside Saratov, Russia  
1920 local  
  
  
Volkonov pulled his battered sedan to a stop next to the gold sportscar. Harm and CD were already waiting, leaning against the side of the car as Alex approached them.  
  
"This is all I could get without raising suspicion," the Russian officer told them, holding out a manila file folder. The cousins looked at each other. Mercedes nodded, and Harm reached out and took the folder, immediately opening it to read the contents.  
  
Volkonov and CD watched him scan through the papers. While Alex watched his friend with ill-concealed nervousness, Mercedes's gaze was shrewd and assessing. "Well?" she finally asked, several moments later.  
  
Harm looked up at her, tightly controlled anger and buried pain in his eyes. "He was there, in charge of a small patrol squad."  
  
Her voice was sharp, businesslike, but with minimal emotion. "So. What's our next move?"  
  
Instead of answering her, he turned to Alex. "Do you know anything about Tikhomirov's current whereabouts?"  
  
"He has an estate outside Volgograd-- an old *boyars* estate, near one of the river's tributaries. Rumor has it he is there."  
  
Harm nodded, then paused. "Alex... we can't thank you enough for all your help."  
  
"Good luck, my friend," Alex replied, taking Harm's hand in a gesture of farewell, before turning to Mercedes. "It has been interesting, Miss Rabb."  
  
A hint of a wry grin crept across CD's face. "Awww... you're just saying that," she joked, before turning serious. "May fate be kind and luck always be your friend, Alexsandr Constantinovich," she said in Russian, before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.  
  
Taking a step back, she turned to Harm and nodded. "Let's go."  
  
Volkonov watched as the cousins climbed into the exotic car, Harm taking the passenger seat and Mercedes sliding into the driver's seat with an instinctive ease. The big engine roared to life as the car took off with incredible speed and a throaty growl. Moments later, they were gone from sight.  
  
  
***************************************************************  
Outside Volgograd  
  
  
What she'd feared had happened: the meager trays of food had dwindled, then stopped altogether the day before yesterday. It had now been 52 hours and 37 minutes since she had eaten. For once, she wished dearly that her sense of time wasn't quite so exact.  
  
The hunger was a living thing, eating away at her mentally and physically from the inside, as was the chill of her surroundings, which was doing much the same from the outside.  
  
Mac forced herself to struggle to her feet, determined to keep up the regimen she set herself in order to stave off boredom and the cold. One, two, three, four. Turn. One, two, three, four, five, six. Her cell was exactly four paces wide and six paces long. Every hour, unless sleeping, she made herself walk 25 "laps" of her cell. Meager though it was, the exercise was enough to get her muscles stretched, her blood flowing and generate some internal heat. It also helped her keep her wits about her. Each circuit she made, she studied every inch of the cell closely, looking for any weakness.  
  
But the lack of food made her weary, making it more and more difficult to marshal her strength. The lack of nutrition dulled her senses, making her search for a way out increasingly futile.  
  
Her drill done, she dropped to the floor, trying to ignore the slight dizziness in her head. Dammit, she was a Marine and a lawyer. Suck it up and think like one.  
  
But even as she began mentally reviewing what she knew of her cell, a small part of her mind wandered back to the questions that had plagued her from the start: What had happened to Harm and Mercedes? And where on earth was Clayton Webb?  
  
  
******  
Nearby  
Same time  
  
  
Had he been able to talk, Webb could have easily answered Mac's question. He was in a cell himself, icy water dripping slowly on to his battered body. Though his eyes had swollen shut, he knew it was the same chamber of horrors he'd been in from the beginning. He knew it had been some time since his tormentors had left him shackled to the wall, his face pressed into the cold, filthy stone wall, the trickle of water slowly stealing what little warmth remained in his body.  
  
Yes, Clayton Webb, had he known the question, would easily have been able to tell Mac where he was.  
  
He was in Hell.  
  
  
  
TBC.... 


	38. Chapter 37

AN: as before, dialogue in is in Russian.  
  
*********************************************************************  
Two Days Later (December 20th)  
Outside Volgograd  
Tikhomirov's estate  
2045 hours  
  
  
General Kyril Andreievitch Tikhomirov sat alone in his study, a glass of vodka in his hand and much on his mind.  
  
He still had men out searching for the Rabb cousins, but no luck. They were being as elusive as the elder Rabb had been those many years ago. But as before, it would only be a matter of time before the quarries would be run to ground, brought down by their foolish honor and loyalty. Then he could truly indulge himself.  
  
Not that it hadn't been enjoyable dealing with his current guests. The woman was fascinating in her resilience; another day or two, and her physical weakness would be enough that breaking her mentally would be simple. Then he could truly enjoy himself.  
  
The man, Webb, was intriguing simply as an example of misleading appearances. The dossier he'd received was filled with a substantial amount of information, including several analyses stating that the man was a shallow, weak-willed political lackey with little behind his suave, polished exterior. To Kyril's delight, that had been anything but the case. Breaking him was a continuing delight.  
  
And when he caught the Rabbs... Destroying them completely and totally, finishing what he had started all those years ago, obliterating an entire family from existence... If only all his work could be so sweet.  
  
  
**********************  
Elsewhere  
Same time  
  
  
"Do we have everything we need?"  
  
"Far as I can tell... We've done our homework, planned it all out, worked through the contingencies. The only thing left to do..."  
  
"...Is set it in motion."  
  
Harm nodded. "Let's do it."  
  
CD gave an answering nod, then picked up the pay phone and dialed.  
  
  
****************************  
Tikhomirov's estate  
  
  
The General's musings were interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Frowning at the disturbance, he picked up the receiver and answered with a curt "Yes?"  
  
"Good evening, Kyril Andreievitch. I hear you've been looking for me...   
This is Mercedes Rabb."  
  
Tikhomirov sat up sharply. "How did you get this line?" he demanded.  
  
"Irrelevant. Now listen carefully. There is an old abandoned cabin 20 kilometers northwest of your estate. Day after tomorrow you will bring the man and woman you took prisoner, and *no one else*, to that cabin at 1730 local time. You'll release them, and I will give you Harmon Rabb Senior."  
  
"That's hardly a fair trade, Miss Rabb."  
  
"Oh, I think it's more than fair. After all, I know just how badly you want him. Your current prisoners are nothing to you in comparison, assuming they're still alive."  
  
The Russian feigned ignorance. "Why wouldn't they be?"  
  
"Please, General... I know your reputation. Now, remember-- the day after tomorrow, 1730 hours, and come alone. We see anyone except you and your prisoners, we are gone and so are the remains."  
  
"But--"  
  
It was too late. Tikhomirov was speaking to a dial tone.  
  
  
***********  
  
  
Mercedes hung up the phone sharply, cutting off the call. "I think that worked," she told her cousin.  
  
"We did the best we could. All we can do now is wait and be ready," he replied, even as they exited the small hotel lobby and headed up the street, arm in arm.  
  
They had gone a few blocks before Mercedes spoke again. "Harm," she said hesitantly, before we do this, there's something I need to tell you. Something you have to know about your dad."  
  
He stopped walking, turning to her. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Harm, I... Listen, ... Back in Yekaterinburg, when I was examining the remains, I--I noticed something. Something that doesn't fit with what you were told about how he died."  
  
"Mercedes..."  
  
"Harm, I'm sorry, but I don't any other way to tell you. Your dad... he didn't die from a gunshot wound."  
  
The blood drained from his face. "What?" he whispered.  
  
Mercedes pressed her eyes closed, fighting the threatening tears. "Harm, he may have very well have been shot. But there were a large number of marks on the bones indicating he'd been stabbed... repeatedly, and with a relatively dull object." She paused, swallowing a sob. "The marks are consistent with a modern bayonet. I think Tikhomirov... stabbed him repeatedly with a bayonet, and then left him to bleed to death."  
  
  
TBC................. 


	39. Chapter 38

For a long moment, he could only stare at her in shock. Then, grabbing her roughly by the arm, he forcibly dragged her into a nearby alleyway. Releasing her with a shove that sent her stumbling against the wall, he demanded, "How long, Mercedes? How long have you known about this and not told me?"  
  
She winced. "Since I first inspected the remains, after determining the identity," she whispered, refusing to look at him. "I... If we're going to confront Tikhomirov like we've planned, you needed to know. He may mention it-- try to throw us off."  
  
"So that's the only reason you told me," he shot back coldly. "Otherwise, you would have kept quiet-- said nothing and lied to me. Goddammit, Mercedes!! I deserve to know the truth, he's my FATHER!!!"  
  
"And what good would it do?" She railed back, recovering her wits. "Give you one more item to beat yourself up with? Give you and your Mom one more terrifying thought to haunt you? One more demon to plague your thoughts?"  
  
"That's bullshit and you know it."  
  
"The hell it is! I know you, Harm. You take responsibility for things beyond your control; you always have, just because you have to make everything right. But there's nothing you can do here. He's dead, Harm. He died almost twenty years ago." He voice softened. "Let it go, cousin. Save your energy for Mac and Webb; we can still help them. Anything else is a waste."  
  
"What about Tikhomirov? For what he's done..."  
  
"He'll get his reward in the end. Men like him always do," she insisted coldly, then stepped over to where he was standing, placing a hand on his arm. "Revenge isn't you, Harm. Don't taint your hands with it."  
  
He looked down at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Let's go get Mac and Webb, and get the hell out of here."  
  
But even as they walked out of the alley, silently leaning on each other, Mercedes acknowledged one simple truth: revenge may not be her cousin's style, but it very well could be hers.  
  
  
TBC..... 


	40. Chapter 39

************************************************************************  
Two Days Later/ December 22  
Tikhomirov's estate  
1500 hours  
  
  
He was ready. He had imagined every possibility, covered every contingency. No matter how clever the Rabb woman might be, he would come out the victor tonight. How could he not? Everything was in his favor; he held all the cards. He only regretted the necessity of eliminating all the Americans immediately, denying him the chance to enjoy them fully.  
  
Tonight, it would all end.  
  
  
***********  
  
  
With a Herculean effort, Mac wearily raised her head as the heavy door creaked open. It had now been over five days since she'd eaten, and the toll on her taken by the starvation kept getting higher. She'd been unable to summon the strength to complete her 'exercise' for almost 12 hours now, and she was quickly losing her battle with the ever-increasing chill. She felt so cold... So very cold....  
  
Lost in her wandering thoughts, she didn't notice the two guards that had entered the cell until they reached for her. Her weak attempt to push them off did nothing, and then she was being dragged to her feet and out of the cell.  
  
She was taken up a flight of stone stairs and through several passageways, all of it blurring together. Then the men stopped, but only long enough for another to slap a pair of heavy shackles on her wrists.  
  
Then they were on the move again, through even more hallways and up more stairs, until they reached a door. One of her escorts gave it a strong kick, and then she was hauled out into the open air.  
  
The storm's fury hit her with the strength of a bomb blast. The icy wind cut through her like a knife, stealing what little warmth remained in her body, while the snow blew around her, blinding her. What was happening? Where they just going to abandon her, leaving her to die?  
  
The guards continued to drag her, her uncooperative and weakened legs unable to fully support her. How far would they take her before abandoning her?  
  
Then the unexpected happened. The guards stopped, and she heard the sound of a car door being opened. She was roughly shoved in, but she didn't care. The car was wondrously, soothingly warm, and she couldn't help but close her eyes and soak it in.  
  
She remained that way, until a few moments later, that is, when the battered and abused body of a barely alive Clayton Webb was thrust in from the other side.  
  
  
**********************  
Same time  
10 km NE of above location  
  
  
The cabin was silent except for the cracking of the fire in the hearth, the quiet metal-on-metal sounds of a gun being disassembled and cleaned, and the soft scrape of a razor over skin.  
  
Mercedes cleaned each part of the gun with meticulous care. They only had two weapons, and both had to work perfectly. She'd finished the gun she'd taken from her attacker in Yekaterinburg a few moments ago; she was now working on the pistol she'd stolen from Alex Volkonov's car.  
  
There was a soft splish of water as over by the fire, Harm rinsed the razor he'd been using. Glancing over his shoulder, he commented, "I didn't think you'd know how to do that."  
  
CD didn't stop her methodical cleaning, despite looking up briefly in his direction. "I do carry a sidearm on the job, you know. Besides, there's this little part of forensics called ballistics." She paused, setting down the barrel and picking up the clip, examining it closely. "It may not be my specialty, but I know my way around a gun."  
  
He nodded, then returned to his previous task, taking a few more careful swipes with the razor before rinsing it again and setting it aside. Wiping his face with a towel, he turned to his cousin. "Well?"  
  
CD finished her task before looking up, reassembling the gun with ease. After a quick check of the sight, she turned back to her cousin. She stared at him for a long moment, assessing the change.  
  
"Perfect."  
  
  
*******************  
Abandoned cabin  
10 km NE of Tikhomirov's estate  
1720 hours  
  
  
Mac had done the best she could for Webb, which wasn't much. Blessedly, he'd drifted in and out of consciousness, seemingly aware of nothing. Mac herself wasn't doing a whole lot better.  
  
She'd kept her wits enough to realize that they had left their previous location, the solitary driver taking an unknown course with caution, even as the weather worsened. It had taken her a while, but she finally thought she'd figured out what was going on.  
  
They were being traded. She thought the man in the front seat was the General from the first night, which made sense. His lack of accompanying forces did not. Unless...  
  
Unless this wasn't an official trade. Not if the persons behind it were a pair of irritatingly stubborn cousins with an iron-plated code of honor.  
  
Then she was out of time to think, as the car stopped and one after the other, she and Webb were pulled from the car and dropped on the ground next to it, Tikhomirov's gun never wavering in its aim.  
  
  
**********  
  
  
She watched the car arrive, gritting her teeth at the way Mac and Webb gave no resistance, staying on the ground after Tikhomirov dropped them there. At best they would neither help nor hinder matters. At worst... She didn't want to think about that.  
  
The blowing, swirling snow made sighting difficult at best. Still, she found her target, inching forward. Now it was all up to him.  
  
  
**********************  
  
  
Tikhomirov looked away from his prisoners, toward the cabin that was barely visible through the snowstorm. "I am here, Miss Rabb," he called out in English, "and I have your friends here. Give me your uncle, and they are yours." And as soon as the foolish woman showed her face, Tikhomirov would blow her head off.  
  
There was a creak and a brief flicker of light, indicating the cabin door had opened. Then an indistinct figure approached, their identity hidden at first by the snow and then by the fedora and coat they wore. The tall figure stopped a few feet away, pausing.  
  
"Here I am, Kyril Andreievitch," he said, with a voice straight from Tikhomirov's nightmares. The man looked up, and Tikhomirov's heart seized as though a dead, icy hand had closed around it.  
  
He was looking at the face of a dead man, a man he personally killed many years ago. Harmon Rabb Senior.  
  
  
TBC...... 


	41. Chapter 40

"Were you expecting someone else?" the Ghost in front of him asked in an amiable tone.   
"Funny, I thought it was me you wanted."   
  
"*Nyet*. This... this is not real," he said to himself. "It cannot be."   
  
The Ghost shook its head and smiled, and it was that same irritating grin from all those   
years before. "I'm real, Kyril, I assure you," it said, taking a step forward.   
  
Panic surged through him, gripping him as it had that day so long ago, and he reacted   
instinctively. He grabbed the woman by the arm, dragging her close and pushing the gun   
barrel into her temple even as he took several step back. "Stay back!! Stay back or she   
dies!!"   
  
  
******   
  
She had been hanging on to Clay, her only focus keeping him alive and warm, when she   
heard the stranger speak. A quick glance up, and she felt her sanity slip loose from its   
moorings. She was either going insane or hallucinating from the starvation. She had to   
be, because she was looking Harm's father, seemingly alive and well. Either that, or she   
was seeing a ghost.   
  
Either way, there was no question of his identity. The resemblance between father and   
son couldn't have been much stronger, she thought idly, even as her disjointed mind   
registered Tikhomirov's cries. Well, at least she wasn't hallucinat--   
  
Oh God. She was going to die. She knew a dozen ways out of this situation, but she was   
too weak to use any of them. She was going to die here, in the middle of the snowy   
Russian wilderness, with a bullet in her head and with only a ghost to mourn her...   
  
She sought the phantom's eyes, so like those that always gave such strength. She locked   
her gaze on his, trying to explain everything she'd done, why she'd turned away so   
quickly, praying that somehow, the message would travel from father to son, losing   
herself in the azure depths, trying with all she had to read what they held...   
  
And she knew.   
  
  
***********   
  
  
"GuetigeMuttergottesVerdammteScheisseVerfluchtnochmal......." she muttered under her   
breath, desperately trying to remain motionless in her precarious perch high above the   
ground. How the hell could a situation take such tremendously lucky and completely   
shitty turns at the same damn time????   
  
A few more steps, and they'd be in the *perfect* position for her to make a move... if   
Mac didn't get killed first. Tikhomirov was rapidly coming extremely unglued...   
  
Move or wait? Verdammt, just three more steps...   
  
  
************   
  
  
"Something wrong, Kyril Andreievitch?" the Ghost asked, a hint of menace slipping into   
the affable voice as it moved forward again.   
  
The gun dug painfully into Mac's forehead, causing her to wince. "I will kill her,"   
Tikhomirov threatened again, retreating again from the specter's advance.   
  
The Ghost paused for a long moment before speaking again, this time with all warmth   
gone from the voice. "Then I will have company, Kyril Andreievitch. Even more than   
intended."   
  
Tikhomirov's grip weakened slightly, his face bloodless. "What?"   
  
"Surely you know why I'm here, Kyril." It moved forward, cold ice for eyes. "You   
butchered me. You've left nothing but blood, pain and death wherever you've gone."   
Another step forward, even as Tkihomirov retreated further. "Now they've come for you,   
Kyril Andreievitch."   
  
"NYET!!!" The Russian screamed. "NYET!!! NYET!!!   
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"   
  
The Ghost charged as the sky fell.   
  
  
TBC.......................... 


	42. Chapter 41

AN: Gruesome warning here, and strong language (in German). You've   
been warned.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
  
Harm saw Mercedes tensely perched on the tree branch some good twelve feet up when Tikhomirov began moving back. The cousins watched as, unaware, he moved directly under her hiding place. Mercedes looked at him, eyes ablaze, body tensed. She pointed first to Mac, then at her cousin. She held up her right hand, four fingers in the air.  
  
Four.  
  
Three.  
  
Two.  
  
One.  
  
Harm dove madly at the pair, grabbing for Mac as he went. Simultaneously, CD dropped like an avenging angel from above, tackling Tikhomirov and sending them both to the ground.  
  
CD hit Tikhomirov hard, her hands in a fist connecting with the back of his neck. She never stopped moving, agilely and immediately rolling to her feet when they hit the ground. Turning back to her opponent, she let fly a vicious roundhouse kick just as he struggled to his knees. The blow snapped his head backwards and left him unconscious in the snow.  
  
Meanwhile, Harm had wrapped both arms around Mac's thin frame and used his momentum to propel them away from the fight. Hitting the ground hard, they rolled a few feet before stopping. "I got ya, Mac," he breathed urgently in her ear, "now stay down. This isn't over yet."  
  
He looked up in time to see Mercedes deliver the wicked-looking kick to Tikhomirov. Breathing heavily, she paused for a moment, then looked over at her cousin and Mac. "Harm?" she called.  
  
"Over here."  
  
"Right." Still fighting the adrenaline flying through her body, she took a few deep breaths before answering further. "Mac okay?"  
  
"I think so," he called, glancing down at her. "Go check Webb."  
  
"Right." With that, she dashed over to where he lay, near the car.  
  
And then any thoughts of Webb, CD, Tikhomirov, or anyone else save the woman in his arms fled from Harm's mind. Everything in his being was focused on Mac.  
  
  
*************************  
  
  
Mercedes sprinted to where Webb lay slumped on his side in the snow. His body position alone was bad news. People instinctively tended to move to stay warm, which typically meant face down, body pressed to the ground. Clay hadn't moved since Mac had been forced to drop him.  
  
She half-skidded to her knees next to him. "Webb?" she tried, reaching to shake him gently, but it was no good. A quick survey of his state did not reassure her. "Clay?" she tried again, leaning closer.  
  
God, he was a mess. A nastily logical voice in the back of her head reminded her that most people she'd seen in a similar condition were lying on a slab in the morgue. His clothes were filthy and tattered; someone had obviously forced him into a ratty looking coat, but that was the only concession to comfort that had been made. She recognized the distinctive coloration of dried bloodstains all over his skin and clothes. Gently, she slid a trembling hand on to the vein in his neck. His skin was chilled and clammy, but there was a faint but steady throb under her fingertips. Thank you God.  
  
Okay, first things first: get him off the ground. She pulled open the car door, then moved back to him. "Okay, Clay, stick with me here. I'm gonna try to get you a little warmer and somewhere I can get a better idea what the slime did," she said quietly, rolling him toward her.  
  
She couldn't help the pained-sounding gasp that escaped her lips when she got a good look at his face. A slow-burning rage ignited within her as she took in the purplish, puffily distorted features. Dammit, this was her fault. What the hell else had been done?  
  
As gently as she could, she lifted him into the car, helping him on to the edge of the seat. He dropped back against the seat as she began a close examination. The soles of his feet were burned, and there possible broken bones. His legs showed various lacerations through corresponding cuts in his pants. There were at least three broken fingers, and his arms showed similar damage to his legs. Wanting to keep him warm as possible, she slid her hands underneath the jacket and over his chest. Broken ribs, several on each side... and what were those small rough spots? The texture was familiar...  
  
An anger that had been on slow burn ever since she learned the truth about her uncle's death was quickly surging upward into a white-hot fury. It climbed higher when she lifted the hem of his shirt and discovered the nature of the mysterious spots. Cigar burns, deliberately placed where they would cause maximum pain.  
  
Much like her cousin, Mercedes prized her hard-won control, and had worked hard to learn to keep in under any situation. Unfortunately, even the strongest restraints have their limits. CD's control hit theirs when she discovered the worst of Clay's injuries.  
  
His back was a mass of raw meat, trimmed with infection. Oh, no. Holy God, no. Not salt... That... He didn't....  
  
But Tikhomirov had. After systematically reducing the tissue to a bloody mess, salt had been rubbed into the wounds. It was a pain that was both acute and enduring.  
  
Deep inside Mercedes Rabb, something vital snapped, and the darker side of her nature, the aspect of herself that she so carefully controlled, was unleashed.  
  
  
**************************  
  
  
"Come on Mac, talk to me," Harm begged, gently pulling her to him. Apparently, somewhere between being held at gunpoint and hitting the ground after Harm's rescue, she'd passed out. Cradling her in one arm, he brushed away the hair from her face with a soft caress. "Open those big brown eyes of yours and talk to me, ninja-girl, please," he pleaded softly.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, her eyelids lifted, and he got his wish. She regarded him with confusion, reaching up to touch a tentative hand to his cheek. "Harm?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.  
  
Relief flooded through him. "Welcome back, Marine," he said softly.  
  
Her fingertips moved to brush his newly-acquired mustache. "It's you..."  
  
"It was the only thing we could think of to get an advantage on Tikhomirov," he replied softly, pulling her closer. Hell, he couldn't get close enough. "We had to get you back," he added, anguish creeping into his voice. He swallowed hard before asking the question he'd been dreading. "What did they do to you?"  
  
"Not much," she replied, "but I haven't eaten in a few days. I'm so hungry...."  
  
"God, Mac..... I was so worried," he managed, his voice rough. "I... I..." Words failed him; instead he kissed her, desperately, passionately. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered brokenly, before simply holding her tight for a long moment.  
  
Finally, he pulled back slightly. "Come on, I think we've got something you can eat in the cabin, and it's a hell of a lot warmer in there." He started the to get to his feet, helping her do the same. "CD?" he called, still focused on Mac. "How's Webb?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"Mercedes?" Finally standing, still supporting Mac, he looked up... Just in time to see his cousin striding over to where Tikhomirov was slowly regaining consciousness. What the...?  
  
Confusion turned to shock as Mercedes brutally kicked the struggling man in the stomach. "Los, aufstehen, du gottverdammter Wichser!!"* she ordered, pulling out her gun and leveling it straight at the Russian's head.  
  
  
TBC.......  
  
  
*********************************************************  
*Translation: "Get up, you ****ing b*****d!"  
*********************************************************  
  
AN2: Okay, y'all, I need some feedback here for the end of the story. I have 2 options: 1) wrap up everything neat and clean at the end of this story, or 2) leave a few loose ends hanging, & deal with them in a (much shorter) sequel. Basically, are you guys sick of Mercedes, or would you like to see more of her?  
  
Let me know off list, at msnovtue@hotmail.com Thanks! 


	43. Chapter 42

First, a note, then on with the story...  
  
WOW!!! I was completely amazed by all the responses I got from people regarding the 'to sequel or not to sequel' question. I had no *idea* so many people were reading this, and enjoying it. To all of you who let me know... THANK YOU!!!!! :o)  
  
The general consensus is that you're not tired of her yet, so, to borrow a bit from my fave movie series:  
  
Mercedes Rabb will return.   
  
(bonus points if anyone figures out the movie reference. ;oP) All I can (or will) tell you at this point is that she is/will be determined to get her cousin ...er... hooked up. :o) As for a certain other party, well.... that's classified.   
  
One more thing: I know some of you will not like the direction things take in this chapter. All I can say is that I hope it will not put you off the story entirely. This has been the plan since the beginning, and while I thought about it long and hard, I really believed that it was best as is. My apologies if I offend anyone.  
  
  
***********************************************************************  
PART 42  
  
  
Harm couldn't believe his eyes. "Mercedes, what the hell are you doing?"  
  
She ignored him, continuing as if he didn't exist. "Arschloch..." she spat at him. The confusion on the Russian's face brought her back just enough to switch to English. "I have seen a lot in my life," she stated in a flat tone that dripped with fury, disgust, and sheer hatred. "I've cleaned up after gang wars. I've handled bodies of victims so mangled you couldn't tell they were human. I've even had to deal with the butchered child victims of serial killers. But you beat them all."  
  
"Harm?" Mac asked quietly from beside him. "She's not..."  
  
"I don't know, Mac," he answered, equally quietly, and completely at a loss for what to do.  
  
Meanwhile, Tikhomirov had managed to recover some of his dignity. "I did what I did to serve the Rodina," he defended.  
  
"Bull-Shit!" CD yelled back, jabbing the pistol against his forehead. "You did it for yourself and only for yourself. I saw what you did to Clay... and I know how you killed my uncle."  
  
"That's impossible," Tikhomirov responded confidently.  
  
"He had been shot... Somehow, you tracked him...followed him. And then... you found him," she stated in a cold voice. "He was probably too weak to put up much of a fight, depending on the amount of blood loss." Her eyes narrowed. "So what was it? What did he do that set you off, Kyril Andreievitch? What infuriated you so?"  
  
"Harm," Mac said, worry coloring her voice. "Stop her. She's out of control."  
  
Harm looked down at her, torn. "I know, Mac. But I'm not sure I can."  
  
"She'll kill him," Mac stated, fighting her way through the fog in her head.   
  
"I know." The anguish was heavy in his voice. Across the clearing, Mercedes continued on, oblivious to everyone but Tikhomirov.  
  
"Whatever he did, you still had your wits about you, didn't you, General?" she insisted, even as the blood began to drain from her adversary's face. "Enough to know that a gunshot would bring others. So instead, you fixed your bayonet. And then you slaughtered him."  
  
Tikhomirov's face was dead white. "How do you know?"  
  
She ignored him, instead staring at him with wild eyes, her hand shaking slightly as it held the gun.  
  
Harm shared a look with Mac, then eased her down to the ground and began slowly, cautiously moving toward his out-of-control cousin. "Mercedes," he said in a low tone, "Don't do this."  
  
She never moved from her stance. "Back off, Harm. This isn't for you to handle."  
  
"He was my father, CD."  
  
"And my uncle."  
  
"He wouldn't want this." Harm moved closer.  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"I do, CD. Now back away from him and give me the gun." Closer still.  
  
"I can't do that, Harm. Not after your Dad, Clay, and God knows how many others."  
  
"CD... you don't want his death on your conscience. Trust me."  
  
"Listen to him... he speaks true," Tikhomirov interjected, desperate.  
  
"No, Harm. I don't want his life on my conscience," she replied, then cocked back the hammer on the gun. "Goodbye, General. I wish I had time to give you what you truly deserve, but I'll have to leave that to your victims."  
  
"MERCEDES, NO!!!!" Harm's cry rang out as she pulled the trigger repeatedly.  
  
Seconds later, Harm was staring in shock at his cousin, who still held out the gun in a shaking hand, and at the bloody mess that had been the head of General Kyril Andreievitch Tikhomirov slowly spreading across the snow. 


	44. Chapter 43

***********************************************************************  
  
  
No one moved. It was as if all the energy had been expended in that one rash action, leaving all incapable of acting further.  
  
It was a long moment before Harm took the last few slow steps needed to bring him beside his cousin. His stomach churned as he glanced briefly at what remained of Tikhomirov, even as he slowly, cautiously, reached out for the gun in Mercedes's hand. "It's over," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm and pushing it downward.  
  
Mercedes remained immobile, except for the arm Harm had guided downward. She stared fixedly at the body, even as Harm gently unwrapped her fingers from the gun and pocketed it. "I had to," she whispered.  
  
Harm couldn't think of a reply to that. He wasn't going to let himself think about what had just happened, not now. He had too many other things to deal with, chief among them being getting the hell out of here.  
  
Still forcing himself to move slowly and gently, he laid a hand on   
Mercedes's shoulder and turned her toward him. She was white-faced and shaking, her body stiff and her eyes wide. "We need to get out of here, CD," he said softly, then remembered something from earlier as she nodded jerkily. "How is Webb?"  
  
Mercedes's eyes went even wider, and a strangled-sounding cry came from deep in her throat. Before Harm could react, she spun away from him and made a mad dash for the car. "Wha- Mercedes!" he called, before following her back.  
  
  
  
*********************************  
Five hours later  
Along the Don River  
Between Volgograd and Rostov-on-Don  
2257 local  
  
  
Harm crept silently through the ship, making his way as quickly as possible back to the lowest levels of the freighter's hull. His arms were loaded with contraband-- food and supplies he'd stolen from the ship's mess. He breathed a sigh of relief once he passed the last known guard posting, then hurried the final distance to his destination.  
  
After the whole... situation with Tikhomirov, he'd had to basically assume control of their ragged party. Mac, although better off now that she'd gotten some food in her, was still weak; Mercedes was still in a mild state of shock, as well as being otherwise occupied caring for Webb.  
  
Webb... Harm couldn't believe the agent was still alive. He didn't want to think about the whole mess any more than that, but a small nagging voice in his head was insisting he do so. Had CD's actions been a reaction to seeing Webb? That made everything a bit more comprehensible, but still...  
  
He'd managed to get Mercedes to respond enough to figure out that the last way anyone would be looking for them to be going was in the hold of a freighter destined first for the Black Sea and then ultimately for Athens. Hopefully, they could sneak off the ship in Greece and get to the US Embassy.  
  
He carefully opened the hatch in front of him, trying not to lose faith as he took in the scene. The "room", a storage closet cleared for them by a well-compensated member of the crew, was probably about the size of his office. The only light came from the old lantern the crewman had given them, which sat in the middle of the floor. A few feet from the door, Mac leaned against the wall, knees curled under her. A threadbare blanket was wrapped around her still form, and her eyes were closed in rest, the long lashes gently brushing her cheeks.  
  
He shut the hatch behind him, then bent down to put down his burden. Kneeling, he moved next to Mac, brushing away a stray lock of hair from her face with a gentle touch. "Hey, ninja-girl," he whispered, "Interested in some grub?"  
  
He watched as her eyes opened, regarding him with a warm look.   
"That's one of the dumber questions you've ever asked," she replied wryly, shifting and stretching under the blanket.  
  
Harm reached for the pile of supplies, coming up with a loaf of bread. "It's not deep-fried or dead cow, but it's food," he said, tearing off a hunk and offering it to her.  
  
"Thanks," she said, accepting the proffered bread. "At this point, even meatless meatloaf would probably sound good," she said with a weak grin.  
  
He grinned back, but then the expression slowly slid from his face as he glanced at the other occupants of the small room. "Has there been any change?" he asked soberly.  
  
Mac's smile disappeared as well. "No," she said sadly, shaking her head, before following Harm's gaze. "She won't leave him, not even to get some rest."  
  
Their gaze was fixed on the far side of the room, where Mercedes knelt next to Webb. He lay face down on a small pile of blankets, while Mercedes tended to his wounds as best she could. She had bandaged what she could, raiding her bag and sacrificing a spare shirt. Otherwise, she was reduced to periodically wiping down his face and shoulders with a damp cloth in an effort to keep his fever under control. She cleaned the wounds on his back as best she could, but they were still too raw to allow her to do much of anything for them, not with the meager supplies available to her.  
  
Harm glanced back at Mac, then scooped up some of the supplies he'd brought and carried them over. Kneeling beside his cousin, he spoke softly. "How is he?"  
  
She never looked up from her task. "Not good," she answered tonelessly.  
  
Harm swallowed, then asked the question he wasn't sure he wanted answered. "Will he make it?"  
  
Silence fell, heavy and oppressive for several long minutes before she answered. "I don't know. But I'm not quitting."  
  
He nodded, accepting her answer for what it was: a statement of her determination rather than an assessment of Webb's condition. "Here's more supplies, and some food. You need to keep your strength up," he told her, still uncertain of how to deal with her.  
  
She never once looked up. "Thanks. I'll try to stretch things as long as I can," she replied, re-wetting the scarf she was using as a washcloth. "You'd best get some rest. We still have several days until we reach Athens."  
  
Recognizing the end of the conversation, Harm stood and returned to Mac, dropping down to sit next to her. "How is Webb?" she asked.  
  
"She says it's not good," he replied, his voice weary. "I just hope he makes it to Athens." He shook his head in disbelief. "None of us would be here without his help," he admitted reluctantly.  
  
"I know," Mac replied, her voice soft. Turning to look at him, she added, "And I wouldn't be here without you."  
  
"Never mind it's my fault you were in danger in the first place," he said bitterly, looking away.  
  
"No, it wasn't," she replied immediately, "and even if it was, it wouldn't matter." With a gentle hand, she turned his face back to hers.   
"You came back for me."  
  
His eyes held hers. "There was no way I was leaving without you... You know that." She nodded, then shivered slightly. He noticed the slight movement. "Cold?"  
  
"A bit."  
  
He sighed, then moved a bit closer. "Come here," he instructed gently, pulling her into his lap, her head resting under his chin. Wrapping the blanket around them both, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Try and get some sleep," he urged, his voice a whisper.  
  
It was mere minutes before she did so, lulled into slumber by the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart in her ear. It wasn't long afterwards that he followed her, giving in to weariness that seemed to pervade his entire being. As his eyes drifted shut, he vaguely registered the sight of Webb and Mercedes, him resting in her lap, curling up to sleep as well.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Six days later, on New Year's Eve, they arrived at the American embassy in Athens.  
  
  
  
TBC..... 


	45. Chapter 44

************************************************************************  
Ramstein AFB   
Base Hospital  
Ramstein, Germany  
January 2  
1035 local  
Everyone who saw Admiral A.J. Chegwidden making his way through the   
corridors of the base hospital had identical thoughts: get the hell out of his   
way, because the Admiral was a man on a mission-- an unpleasant one. Behind   
him, Petty Officer Jason Tiner was alternately juggling various papers and a   
cell phone and trying to keep up.  
  
Leave it to Rabb to create a minor international incident by just   
dropping on the doorstep of an Embassy with a badly injured CIA agent, half-  
starved Marine, and a rogue criminalist. The foursome had reportedly sent the   
embassy staff into complete disarray. It was now AJ's job to try and clean up   
the mess-- hence Tiner. For all the petty officer's awkwardness at times, he   
was a miracle worker at getting things done within a bureaucracy.  
  
Dreading even having to contemplate the situation, the Admiral strode   
into the room he'd been directed to. Immediately, one of its occupants jumped   
to attention, and the other did her damnest to do the same, despite being in a   
hospital bed. Damn Marines.  
  
"At ease, Colonel," he said, waving down Mac, who gratefully sat back   
against the pillows. However, next to her bed, Commander Harmon Rabb wisely   
stayed at attention, fixing his gaze on a blank part of the wall.   
  
"Do you two have *any* idea what kind of a mess you've created? You've   
got the entire European diplomatic community on the edge of breakdown!" The   
Admiral's tone was mainly one of disbelief and exasperation. He glared at the   
pair of officers, both of whom remained silent.   
  
He took a moment to look the pair over, and as he did, his temper   
subsided. Mac was clearly worse for wear, but the fire was still in her eyes.   
Rabb, on the other hand, looked like hell. Physically, he appeared fine, but   
the dark circles under his eyes and air of exhaustion that surrounded him told a   
different story.  
  
AJ sighed. "Tiner, would you excuse us?" The PO replied with a sharp   
"Yessir" before disappearing. AJ waited until he heard the door close before   
continuing. "At ease, Rabb," he said, pulling up a chair on the opposite side   
of the bed. "I don't suppose either of you would care to explain this mess?" he   
added tiredly.  
  
He watched as Harm and Mac exchanged a glance, trying to decide who got to   
tell the tale. Finally, Harm sighed, saying, "It's a long story, sir."  
*****  
It took a good 45 minutes to fill in the Admiral on all that had happened,   
from their arrest in Yetakerinburg and subsequent escape, to the debacle   
involving Tikhomirov. For some unknown reason, Harm chose to alter the   
circumstances of the Russian General's death, saying instead that his cousin had   
fired in self-defense.  
  
At the end of it, AJ could only nod and sigh. It had been a typical Rabb   
situation-- things had gotten sticky, and through no fault on the Commander's   
part, matters had promptly gone straight to hell.   
  
Mac's voice cut through his thoughts. "Sir?" she asked, her voice sounding   
tired. "How much trouble are we in?"  
  
AJ waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Colonel. It'll be taken   
care of. The way I see it, none of you are to blame here. I do have to ask..."   
AJ paused, looking for the best way to phrase a delicate question.  
  
"Mercedes and I turned him over to the base morgue for temporary   
safekeeping," Harm said quietly. "I've called Theresa Coulter and she's   
volunteered to handle matters personally."  
  
"Good." Again, the Admiral paused, debating whether or not to ask the next   
question. "What about your cousin and Webb?"   
  
"Mercedes made it out fine," Harm replied, "but I haven't seen her for a   
while."  
  
"She's stayed with Webb," Mac added.  
  
Webb and Rabb's cousin? Dear Lord.... AJ didn't even want to contemplate   
the potential for disaster that implied. "And what about Webb?"  
  
Harm and Mac glanced at each other, a mixture of sadness and worry on   
their faces. "He's in the ICU," Mac said.   
  
"He's in bad shape, sir," Harm interjected. "The doctors told us   
everything-- all his injuries-- but there were so many, I couldn't even keep   
track."  
  
"That bad?" AJ asked, surprised.  
  
Again, the other officers glanced at each other. "Yes sir," Mac said   
quietly. "You'd probably best see for yourself.  
*****  
AJ had taken their advice and headed over to the ICU section. He was   
told that visitors were only allowed in every 45 minutes, so he wandered over to   
the small waiting area to wait for the next visiting time. To his surprise,   
Mercedes Rabb was there, idly flipping a large silver coin back and forth across   
her knuckles.  
  
She froze when she caught sight of him. "Admiral," she greeted, her   
tone formal but wary.  
  
"Miss Rabb." AJ studied her as he took a seat. She was back in her   
personal uniform of jeans, buttondown shirt, deck shoes and trench coat, but   
there was a stiffness and formality to her bearing that hadn't been there the   
last time they had met. Apparently having walls up was a family trait.  
  
An uncomfortable silence filled the room, raising the discomfort level   
another notch. Neither one bothered with any of the out-of-date magazines lying   
around; instead, AJ continued his subtle assessment of her, while she simply   
stared at nothing.  
  
It finally got to be too much for AJ. "You took care of Webb?" he   
asked.  
  
She nodded, but still looked away. "I thought it was the least I could   
do, since I got everyone into this whole mess in the first place," she replied   
bitterly.  
  
AJ raised and eyebrow. "Miss Rabb, with the twin benefits of hindsight   
and having known your cousin for years, I would say that the current situation   
as well as what happened in my office previously were the fault of genetics more   
than anything else," AJ replied wryly.  
  
"We do tend to be gifted in that area," she admitted. "Still, I--"  
  
"Gnaedige Frau."  
  
Both of them turned at the sound of the voice from the doorway.   
Chegwidden was surprise to see a civilian--- a fifty-ish something gentleman   
impeccably attired and groomed.   
  
"Ah, Gerhard." Mercedes stood and greeted the man warmly, albeit   
formally. Noting Chegwidden's expression, she made the necessary introductions.   
"This is Admiral A.J. Chegwidden. Admiral, may I introduce Gerhard Berger.   
He's a lawyer out of Munich who manages my affairs here in Germany."  
  
"A pleasure, Herr Admiral," the man replied. "Grafin, everything is as   
requested, and I have brought the car. We may leave whenever you wish."  
  
What the...? "Miss Rabb?" he asked, his tone a warning. "May I have a   
word with you? Privately," AJ added.  
  
Mercedes glanced at Chegwidden, and knew in an instant she wasn't going   
to get out of here without an explanation and some fast talking. She turned   
back to the German. "Gerhard, ich muss mit dem Admiral etwas besprechen. Gibst   
du uns einen Moment?"   
  
The German nodded, and disappeared without another word into the   
corridor. Soon as he was gone, Mercedes rounded on AJ, not giving him a chance   
to speak. "With all due respect, Admiral, don't bother. I'm not going to   
change my mind."  
  
"Miss Rabb, I may not understand everything that is going on here, but I   
would think you would want to stay and support your cousin."  
  
She gave a half-hearted laugh. "I do believe Colonel MacKenzie can   
handle that better than I can. Allow me to be blunt, Admiral: In my current   
state of mind, I am of no use to anyone," she stated coldly. "As such, I think   
it best that I make myself scarce for a while."  
  
She paused, then softened her tone before continuing. "I don't know   
what Harm has told you, but I did a few things over there that I'm not   
particularly proud of; I just hope they haven't cost me a cousin. At any rate,   
I've made some arrangements," she said, handing AJ a folder piece of paper.   
"This is my contact information for here in Germany. If there are any problems,   
call either myself or Herr Berger."  
  
AJ accepted the paper. "I doubt that will be necessary, but I'll keep   
it in mind." He paused for a moment. "There's nothing that can be done to   
convince you to stay, is there?"  
  
She shook her head no, a sad smile on her face. "It really is for the   
best, Admiral."  
  
Just then a nurse walked into the waiting room, glancing at the pair.   
"You can see him now," she said, then left.  
  
"Shall we?" CD asked, as they both turned to make their way back.  
  
Outside the room, she stopped, and turned back to AJ. "Admiral..." she   
began hesitantly, "First, I want to warn you. They really beat the living   
daylights out of him. I realize you've seen a lot-- but so have I, and what's   
been done to Cl-- er, Webb is pretty high on the scale."   
  
He nodded in acknowledgement. "I appreciate the warning, Miss Rabb," he   
said, the held the door open for her.   
  
She shook her head. "You first, Admiral. If you don't mind, I'll wait   
until you're finished."  
  
AJ thought of inquiring further, then decided against it. Something was   
odd with Rabb's cousin and the agent, but he decided at this point he neither   
wanted or needed to know. He stepped into the room, uncertain what he'd find.  
  
Webb lay on his stomach. His torso was wrapped in enough bandages to do   
a mummy proud. His face was still a mess, although the bruises had faded some.   
"Webb?"  
  
The injured man managed to turn his head slightly, just enough to see his   
visitor. "Admiral," he returned weakly.   
  
An awkward silence fell, neither man knowing what to say. Finally, Webb   
broke the silence. "How are the others?"  
  
"Good," AJ replied. "Far better than you, as a matter of fact. Mac's a   
little drained, but otherwise okay. The cousins Rabb seem to be their usual   
selves, for better or worse."  
  
Webb nodded slightly, even as his eyes drifted closed. "S'ry... still   
tir'd..." he mumbled.  
  
"Well, don't drift off yet; you've got another visitor."  
  
Webb's eyes opened slightly. "'Cedes?"  
  
AJ nodded. "I'll go get her."  
*****  
A few moments later, Mercedes Rabb stepped uncertainly into the room,   
unsure. She wanted to leave, and leave soon, but she just couldn't bring   
herself to depart without saying goodbye to him....  
  
"Y'gonna stand there all day?"   
  
She looked him in the eye for the first time since Russia. "No," she   
said, sighing.  
  
"Good. C'mere," he mumbled.  
  
Obliging, she crossed the room to sit on a chair next to the bed. "Clay-  
-" she began uncertainly.  
  
"Where y' been?"  
  
"Outside. They'll only let you have visitors for a little while each   
hour. Look, Webb, I... I'm leaving," she blurted out.  
  
She thought she saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes at that, only   
to be replaced with a questioning look. "Why?"  
  
"I'm not sure," she said quietly. "I just need to get away for a while,   
I think." She paused, biting her lower lip uncertainly. "Clay... Thank you.   
For everything."  
  
"M'rcedes..."  
  
She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "No. Don't. Just don't."   
She took a deep breath, then leaned close. "Goodbye, Clayton Webb. I won't   
forget you," she said, then brushed his lips with her own.   
  
And then she was gone, disappearing through the doorway.  
  
  
***********************  
Mac's room  
thirty minutes later  
AJ returned to find his two officers sitting close together on the bed,   
talking quietly. He cleared his throat, letting them know of his presence, and   
was rewarded with Rabb once again jumping to his feet.  
  
"Relax, Commander. I'm afraid I've got some news for you." AJ hadn't   
wanted to be the one to deliver this message, but he really wasn't given a   
choice in the matter.  
  
"Sir?" Harm asked, confused.  
  
"Apparently your cousin decided to take off for parts unknown once again.   
I was going to try to talk her out of it, but she slipped past me while she was   
visiting Webb." He held out the white envelope the nurse had handed him   
earlier. "She left a note saying to give this to you."  
  
Harm took the envelope and slit it open with a finger. There was no   
paper, no letter or note inside. But when he shook the contents into his hand,   
he was rewarded with the sole item within.  
  
An old, worn plain gold band fell into his palm, the words "Harmon &   
Patricia - Love Eternal" engraved within.  
TBC.... 


	46. Chapter 45

Song used within: Music by Loreena McKennitt  
Lyrics by William Shakespeare  
Recorded/performed by Loreena McKennitt  
(More info at the end)   
  
  
  
*****************************************  
U.S. Naval Academy Chapel  
Annapolis, MD  
February 21  
1035 local  
  
  
People had been slowly filing in to the Chapel for over an hour.   
Familiar faces were everywhere; almost all of the JAG staff, including the   
Roberts family, Jason Tiner, and Gunny Galindez, were present. Admiral Boone had   
arrived about twenty minutes ago. Even Jack Keeter had made it, showing up with   
another old Academy friend, Sturgis Turner.  
  
There were two notable absences. Clayton Webb, despite having promised to   
put in appearance, was nowhere in sight. Also missing was the one other Rabb   
family member able to attend: Mercedes.  
  
Harm was surprisingly disappointed by her non-appearance. He'd long   
since forgiven her, and he had almost hoped this would be a family reunion of   
sorts.   
  
He looked over to where his mother, grandmother, and Frank talked quietly   
in the family waiting room. Above all else, he was relieved how well everyone   
was handling matters. Telling his mom and Grandma Sarah had been one of the   
most difficult things he'd ever done. But they'd both taken the news calmly and   
quietly, more relieved than anything else that all the questions were finally   
answered.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Harm looked over at Mac, resplendent in her dress blues. She'd been   
amazing these past months, and Harm was beginning to realize just how important   
she was to him. "Fine," he replied, the paused. "You know, I don't think I've   
thanked you once for everything you've done."  
  
"It's no big deal, Harm."  
  
"It is to me, Mac," he said seriously. "You've been great. To be honest,   
when we got back, I wasn't sure how I was going to deal with everything that   
needed to be done." He reached down, taking her right hand in both of his.   
"And I'm not sure I could've without your help."  
  
Mac opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by a knock at the door.   
She and Harm exchanged a questioning look, neither one having any idea who could   
be there. Dropping Mac's hand, Harm called out, "Enter."  
  
The door opened, revealing Admiral Chegwidden, a still-recovering Clayton   
Webb, and a third figure whose identity was obscured by the two men in front.  
  
"Admiral, Webb," Harm greeted them, noting the CIA agent still used a cane   
to get around. "Thank you both for coming."  
  
"Yes, well..." the agent fumbled for his words a bit. "Long before this   
whole mess got started, I'd been working on another project for you." He limped   
into the room, revealing the person behind him. "Finally got it wrapped up last   
night."  
  
Harm couldn't believe his eyes. "Sergei?"  
  
The young Russian took a few tentative steps into the room. "Hello, my   
brother," he greeted Harm quietly. "It is good to see you again."  
  
Harm was stunned. "Sergei..." he breathed, then glanced at his family.   
He'd told them about Sergei, but still...  
  
Thankfully, Sarah Rabb stepped in. She stood and walked over to Sergei.   
"So you're my other grandson," she stated.  
  
Sergei nodded. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Ma'am? Young man, I'm your Grandmother, not your commanding officer,"   
she chided. "Now give your grandmother a proper hug," she ordered, and they   
embraced briefly.  
  
By this time, Trish had joined them. "Sergei," she said, speaking   
softly, "I'm Harm's mother, Trish. It's a pleasure to finally meet you-- I'm   
glad you could be here."  
  
Sergei smiled sadly. "Yes, we are all here-- the whole family, to say   
goodbye."  
  
"Almost, Sergei. Almost," Harm said quietly. "There's one person   
missing."  
  
  
***************************  
Same day  
East of Fredericksburg, VA  
0634 local  
  
  
She sat in the bedroom, idly watching the fireplace from the ornate old rocking chair. She was tired, but that was nothing new; peace of any sort seemed to elude her entirely since Russia. As it was she was grateful for these few quiet moments of solitude. Which, of course, meant it couldn't last. She sighed deeply as the shrill ring of the telephone shattered the quiet of the room. Reluctantly, she moved to answer the summons. It was probably work, needing her to come handle a case at the last minute. Oh well, at least her decision would be made for her then.  
  
"Rabb."  
  
"Are you going?" The voice was familiar, but not one she ever expected   
to hear again.  
  
She sighed again. "Probably not," she answered reluctantly.  
  
"You should go. They'll be expecting you there."  
  
"What difference does it make to you?" she shot back, getting irritated.  
  
"There'll be someone there you should meet. "  
  
"Who?"  
  
"That's classified."  
  
"Classified my ass. You just don't want to say."  
  
"Maybe. Will you be there?"  
  
"Maybe," she said, then hung up.  
  
  
  
********  
USNA Chapel  
1125 local  
Harm took one last glance around before beginning to escort his mother   
into the chapel, Sergei, Grandma Sarah, and Frank following behind. No sign of   
Mercedes at all, he noted with disappointment, even as he helped his mother to   
her seat in the front pew reserved for family.  
  
Once everyone was situated, Harm couldn't help but stare at the flag   
draped casket at the front. After all these years, and all the searching, the   
struggles, and the pain, his Dad was finally home.   
  
The Chaplain stepped up to the podium, collecting his thoughts to   
speak, when a murmur arose from the back of the Chapel. Twisting around, he   
stared in amazement.  
  
Mercedes had arrived, and in full regalia. She wore a sharply   
tailored black suit, the floor length skirt ending in a small train. The   
severe, form-fitting cut of the jacket was offset by the froth of white lace at   
her chin and cuffs, as well as by the red sash bedecked with various pins and   
medals and a large gold collar of office she wore. Harm noted the heavy gold   
ring on her right hand, remembering back years ago when she'd shown it to him;   
it was the Von Kleist family seal. Her blonde hair was in an elegant French   
twist, and a shoulder-length veil was secured with a pair of ornate gold combs.  
  
For her part, Mercedes knew she wasn't going to be able to attend   
unnoticed; someone would see her for certain, and then drag her into a family   
reunion she wasn't prepared to deal with. So instead, she'd taken the opposite   
approach, pulling out her familial version of a full dress uniform. Besides,   
her uncle deserved the honor.  
  
But with the eyes of everyone present on her, Mercedes was having   
second thoughts. She shouldn't be here, but it was too late now, wasn't it?   
And where the hell was she going to sit? She certainly couldn't join her   
family...  
  
In the second row behind Harm, AJ Chegwidden watched the proceedings   
with interest. Amazing how this family kept surprising everyone. He noted the   
conflicted look on the Commander's face, and leaned forward. "Commander," he   
whispered in an undertone, "Shall I ask your cousin to join us?"  
  
Harm looked at his CO in relief, gratitude evident on his face.   
"That would be much appreciated, sir," he whispered back.  
  
AJ nodded, then stood and made his way back to where Harm's cousin   
stood. She wanted to play it formal, well, then, so would he.  
He stopped in front of her, bowing slightly. "Admiral A.J. Chegwidden," he   
said, by way of introduction and greeting.  
  
In return, she half-bowed, half-curtseyed, extending her right hand.   
"Mercedes Portia Rabb Grafin von Kleist," she replied.  
  
Well, *that's* a mouthful, AJ thought. "Would you care to join us?"  
  
She nodded, placing her hand on his offered arm. AJ escorted her   
back to the pew, where they both took their seats. Mercedes simply nodded at   
Harm and his family, and AJ noted the odd look she shot toward Clayton Webb.   
But then any emotion was gone, the stoic, stone-faced demeanor firmly back in   
place as the Chaplain began the service.  
  
The Chaplain spoke briefly, then gestured to Harm, indicating it was his   
turn to speak. He felt Mac give his hand a reassuring squeeze, then made his way   
to the podium.  
  
He looked around, uncertain. He'd spent hours writing and rewriting   
speeches, trying to come up with a few words that would be adequate. But as   
seemed to be typical, when it mattered most, his eloquence deserted him.   
  
Swallowing hard, he looked down at the empty podium in front of him and   
decided to simply speak his mind.  
  
"Thirty-two years," he began hesitantly. "For thirty-two years, he was   
lost. It doesn't matter where. What mattered was that he wasn't here. Far   
from home, far from those who loved him and missed him."  
  
He paused, glancing around at the sea of faces. Mac's was sad but   
warmly supportive, as were those of his mother and grandmother. Sergei's face   
was a mask of Russian-bred solemnity. Mercedes was stone-faced and   
expressionless, a perfect facade of decorum... except that as he watched, a lone   
tear streamed from the corner of her eye.  
  
"We all kept hoping, and some of us searched as best we could.   
Eventually, some answers came to light, but even then... he was still gone, far   
from where he belonged." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And then, he was   
found."  
  
"The person who found him... she knew it would be nearly impossible to   
bring him home. But she did, despite everything." He paused, searching out her   
face. "And for that, Mercedes, I'll never be able to thank you enough."  
  
He stepped down, intending to return to his seat. But as he approached,   
his cousin slowly stood, then moved to approach him. Without a second's thought,   
Harm walked to her and embraced her in a fierce hug that lasted for quite some   
time.  
  
When they finally parted, tears were streaming down Mercedes's face, and   
several tears had left their paths down Harm's cheeks. He took her hands in his,   
then leaned down. "Go. You should say something," He urged quietly, nodding   
toward the podium.  
  
Her eyes went wide in surprise and mild alarm. "Are you sure? I don't   
know..."  
  
"Go," he told her, giving her a gentle push towards it before resuming   
his seat.  
  
Hesitantly, she made he way to stand behind the podium, lowering her   
gaze for a moment as she searched for words. "I fear I'm at a loss for words,   
and must beg your indulgence," she began, her voice softened by an atypical hint   
of an accent. "It was so long ago when we lost my Uncle, that my memories of   
him are limited at best. What I do remember is his extraordinarily kind and   
loyal nature-- a trait clearly passed on to his son," she added with a ghost of   
a smile.  
  
"I was going to stay away today, for reasons I won't go into." She   
paused, searching for her words. "But I realized I'd never said goodbye. So I   
came."  
  
She stopped again, at a loss. She looked around, trying to search out   
the words for all she wished to express. And that was when she noticed the   
piano off to one side of the altar.   
  
She glanced at the chaplain, nodding towards the piano. "May I?" she   
whispered. He nodded his assent, and she crossed to the instrument. Pausing in   
front of in, she turned back to the assembled crowd. "My own words seem   
inadequate, so, with your grace, I'll borrow someone else's," she said with a   
faint smile, then moved to take a seat at the bench.  
  
Back in the crowd, Mac leaned toward Harm. "What's she going to do?"  
  
"I don't know," he replied, a bit nervously.  
  
They watched as Mercedes briefly massaged and stretched her hands.   
Then, almost moving in slow motion, her long, pale hands moved over the keys,   
bringing forth a simple, plaintive melody. A moment later, she began to sing,   
in a clear but rich-sounding mezzo soprano.  
  
  
  
"Fear no more the heat o' the sun  
Nor the furious winters' rages;  
Thou thy worldly task hast done,  
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages  
Golden lads and girls all must,  
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.  
  
The sceptre, learning, physic, must  
All follow this and come to dust.  
  
Fear no more the frown o' th' great;  
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke  
Care no more to clothe and eat;  
To thee the reed is as the oak.  
  
The sceptre, learning, physic, must  
All follow this and come to dust.  
  
All lovers young, all lovers must  
Consign to thee and come to dust."  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
Her hands stilled over the keys, the song finished. No one moved, no   
sound was made. Slowly, she withdrew her hands from the keyboard and stood,   
then returned to her seat, not daring to look at anyone.  
  
Awkward silence reigned for a moment longer, before the Chaplain   
returned to the podium, thanking everyone for their attendance. Gradually, as   
if awakened from a long slumber, the crowd began to move and file out of the   
chapel.  
  
Mercedes made to leave, but Harm reached out, catching her by the arm as   
the rest of the group got to their feet. "Mercedes, wait."  
  
"Yes?" She turned to face him, her face a carefully-schooled mask.  
  
He motioned to a young, sandy-haired man that had been sitting next to   
Sarah Rabb. Mercedes was surprised to notice he had the same unusual blue-green   
eyes as Harm and herself. She glanced at her cousin, an eyebrow arched in a   
silent question.  
  
Her answer was an introduction. "Mercedes, I'd like you to meet my   
brother, Sergei Zuhkov," Harm said quietly.   
  
"A pleasure," Sergei said gravely, bowing slightly over the hand   
Mercedes had extended automatically. "Harm tells me we are cousins...?"  
  
"Second cousins," She clarified, her voice unsteady, "not that it makes   
a difference." She wasn't ready for this, dammit. She saw her Aunt Trish and   
Great Aunt Sarah getting ready to approach her. No, no, no.... "It is a   
pleasure to meet you, Sergei, but if you'll excuse me for a moment. Harm. A   
word, please?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice calm, even as she forcibly   
pulled him aside.  
  
"Mercedes, what..?" Harm whispered as she dragged him a few feet away   
from the group.   
  
"Listen to me. I can not do this. Not now," She hissed forcibly. "This   
was why I wasn't going to come in the first place."  
  
"Then why did you?"  
  
"Because I owed it to your Dad, and I was informed there was someone   
here I should meet." She paused to catch her breath, and sighed. "Please, Harm.   
I know I've got a lot of fences to mend, but I just can't do it now," She   
pleaded.  
  
Harm looked down at his cousin. Outwardly calm and composed, he could   
see the wild panic beginning to creep into her eyes. "All right," he relented.   
"Go. I'll tell them you weren't feeling well or something. In fact, wait a   
minute." He quickly turned and walked over to his mother and grandmother,   
talking quietly.  
  
Returning, he offered her his arm. "I told them you were ill and   
needed to leave," he whispered, before returning to normal speaking voice.   
"Now, Grafin, may I escort you to your vehicle?" he asked, making an exaggerated   
show of it.   
  
"I would be delighted, sir," Mercedes replied. Taking his arm, she   
muttered, "You twit."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
Outside, Harm escorted her to the large Mercedes-Benz sedan. "No limo   
and driver?" he inquired, half-jokingly.  
  
She gave him a dirty look. "Like I ever let anyone else drive," she   
shot back, then paused. "Look, Harm.... I'm sorry. For everything. I..."  
  
He reached up to brush her cheek affectionately. "CD... you brought   
him home. I meant what I said; I'll never be able to thank you enough for   
that."  
  
"I know, it's just...."  
  
Harm could see the struggle inside; for the first time that day, her   
emotions were clearly shown on her face. "Hey... It can take a while to work   
through things. I know. Just promise me one thing."  
  
She looked up at him. "What?"  
  
"When you do, call me?"  
  
She nodded. "I can do that."  
  
They embraced briefly, then she climbed in the car. He backed up as the engine fired. He felt, more than saw, Mac approach. "Everything okay?"  
  
He looked at her, a warm, genuine smile on his face and a new lightness in his heart. "Yeah, Mac. Everything's looking good."  
  
  
FIN  
  
**********  
AN: The song used is "Cymbeline", recorded by Loreena McKennitt. For the   
curious, a sample of it can be found at the following site:  
  
  
  
Scroll down to the album entitled "The Visit", and it is the last song listed.  
  
Full lyrics and music & lyric credits below.  
*********  
CYMBELINE   
Music by Loreena McKennit. Words by William Shakespeare   
  
Fear no more the heat o' the sun  
Nor the furious winters' rages;  
Thou thy worldly task hast done,  
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages  
Golden lads and girls all must,  
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.  
  
The sceptre, learning, physic, must  
All follow this and come to dust.  
  
Fear no more the frown o' th' great;  
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke  
Care no more to clothe and eat;  
To thee the reed is as the oak.  
The sceptre, learning, physic, must  
All follow this and come to dust.  
  
All lovers young, all lovers must  
Consign to thee and come to dust. 


End file.
